


The Golden Path

by blacktail_chorus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Daemons, F/F, First Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Loosely post S2, M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Rated For Violence, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 58,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktail_chorus/pseuds/blacktail_chorus
Summary: While Morgana is on the run after revealing herself as a sorceress, Arthur embarks on a quest for a blade rumored to be able to destroy the source of all magic--with Merlin, of course, in tow. On the road, a rash decision with unexpected consequences forces Arthur to confront a lifetime of prejudice against magic and decide how far he will go to make things right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ACBB was a phenomenal experience due to the fabulous Merlin community. Betas enviropony, wwrackspurts, Pelydryn, and schweet_heart all gave me great advice at critical moments, and Sindhu Thangam was a cheerleader extraordinaire!
> 
> And that's to say nothing of altocello, who not only produced jaw-dropping art but also held my hand through all the ACBB details and logistics. I loved watching cello bring our characters and their daemons to life and I'm sure you will love her work too. Her art post is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961036)!
> 
> Thanks also to the mods who worked so hard to herd us creative cats. :)

  
  



	2. PROLOGUE

" _Forbaerne._ "

Gwen gasped as all the candles in the room sparked and smoked at once. She clapped a hand to her mouth when each flame rose higher and higher with the sweep of Morgana's arm. Soon, the two women were surrounded by tall, delicate pillars of fire, white-blue near the wicks and yellow on the margins, feeding thin wisps of smoke that curled against the ceiling.

"My lady!" she whispered, grinning. The candlelight reflected warmly in her dark eyes. "You've got it!"

She turned to face Morgana, who stood still with one arm raised high. Biting her lip, Morgana stared intently at one candle in particular. Her irises glittered a gold that outstripped the candle's flame.

Then Morgana closed her hand into a fist and let her arm drop down. She released a breath and sagged back slightly, allowing the candles to diminish again. Her loose, raven hair swung in front of her face.

Brecanyth, Morgana's panther daemon, circled her legs as Morgana collected herself. A tiny smile curved the corners of her lips. "That's the tallest I've gotten them," she said demurely.

"It's wonderful!" Gwen gushed, grasping Morgana's hand.

Morgana gave in then, her grin widening as she squeezed back. "Isn't it!"

"I just think about how scared you were, all those months ago, and look at you now," Gwen went on fondly. Her rabbit daemon, Viro, scampered over to Brecan and nudged his side. Brecan gave a play swipe in return.

"There's more," Morgana said mischievously, spinning Gwen around until they both faced the mirror. "Look--" She took a deep breath. " _Blostma!_ "

"Oh!" Gwen exclaimed. Her hands flew to her hairline. A rosebud had materialized among her dark curls and now began to bloom, unfurling to create a blossom as big as her palm. Cherry red petals formed an open cupped flower set perfectly over her ear. "How--?"

"One of the little girls taught me that, actually," Morgana said. "I saw her conjuring daisies for her mother one evening and I asked her to show me the trick."

"She just called them up, out in the open?" Viro hopped closer, astonished. Gwen bent and picked him up so he could look more closely at Morgana's handiwork.

Morgana nodded, placing her hand firmly on Gwen's shoulder. "That's how they live. It's the Druid way." Her grip tightened unconsciously. "It's--"

"Be peaceable," Brecan rumbled. He'd taken up a position by the fire, which Gwen had banked low for the evening. The twitch of his black tail belied his serene posture. Morgana answered his interruption with a glare.

Gwen cleared her throat. She plucked the flower from her hair and handed it to Viro, who took the smooth stem in his teeth as she lowered him back to the ground. Smiling again, she turned to face Morgana. "Show me one more," she asked, batting her eyes and pouting in an entirely transparent attempt to distract.

Morgana laughed all the same. "All right, all right," she acquiesced, rolling her eyes. She glanced around until her gaze landed on Viro. "This is a new one," she said. Then she pointed forcefully in his direction and stamped her stockinged foot. " _Ea!_ "

A tiny jet of water shot forth and sprayed Viro directly in the face. He dropped the rose in astonishment and let it fall, sodden, to the floor. He blinked. "What--!"

Gwen dissolved into giggles at his stricken posture. When Morgana joined in, Viro stalked over to Brecan and deliberately ran his wet head against the grain of the fur on Brecan's underbelly. He flashed his cotton-white backside in Brecan's face before hopping back to Gwen's side.

"Viro!" Gwen admonished, stooping to catch him up again. She hadn't quite stopped laughing.

"Oh, it's all right--fair's fair," Morgana reassured her. Brecan simply curled his head around and calmly began to groom. "But come, it's getting late; I'm sorry I've kept you so long."

"Not at all, my lady." Gwen bobbed her head and moved to turn down Morgana's bed. She picked up the flower from the floor and placed it in the water pitcher she would clear away when she left for the night.

She then went to tend the fire keeping out the last gasps of winter's chill. Brecan rose obligingly, hopping up to the bed to wait while Morgana sat and worked through her hair. The new log crackled as it caught. Gwen leaned more near the hearth and listened to the _shush_ of Morgana's brush working. Viro let out an exaggerated yawn.

"Here," Gwen said, walking over to Morgana's vanity and reaching for the brush. "Let me finish."

"Please," Morgana smiled. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

Gwen gave the brush only a few more strokes before setting it aside. She began to use her hands instead, running her fingers over Morgana's scalp in gentle, calming swirls. She'd first done this ages ago when Morgana had suffered from nightmares; back then, it had been a desperate attempt to stem the panics that woke her from sleep. Since she'd sought the Druids' help, though, it had become nothing more than a pleasant ritual. Gwen sent a silent thank you to Merlin for his genius idea--not to mention the risks he'd taken in helping Morgana make the connection. Especially as it meant he had to lie to Arthur.

Morgana sighed contentedly. Gwen combed her fingers through the thickness of her hair before beginning to work it into loose sleeping plaits.

"I've decided to go ahead with it," Morgana said suddenly, breaking into Gwen's thoughts. A small frown creased her forehead, though her eyes remained shut.

Gwen's hands stilled. "My lady--" she began.

"Save your trouble, Gwen, she won't listen to reason," Brecan huffed.

"The king is wrong," Morgana continued. "I can't sit here and do _nothing_. The Druids risk everything whenever we meet, and for what? So that I can dine at Uther's banquets and smile as he persecutes their kind?" Her hands clenched the fine fabric of her night dress.

Gwen tentatively smoothed Morgana's hair once more. "You bring them supplies, my lady, and I know you're generous with your gold," she said.

"They don't need gold." Morgana sat up and drew her hair forward, swiftly finishing off the last plait. She stood. "They barter their services and live off the land. And gold can't protect them from Camelot's knights." She stalked over to her bed where Brecan watched, his face inscrutable. "You know I'm right," she said to him spitefully.

"My lady--Morgana." Gwen touched her shoulder, causing her to pause. "Of course you're right," she said. "But you can't do anything to help if Uther imprisons you, or you're banished, or... or worse." She let her arm fall back to her side.

"I may be only his ward, but he says he loves me like a daughter," Morgana countered. "If Arthur confessed to magic, we'd have tournaments for wizards by the end of the week."

"Perhaps," Gwen allowed, "but--"

"I've decided," Morgana said firmly. She sprang onto the bed and settled back among the pillows, rustling the thick fabric of the bedclothes. The jut of her chin told Gwen the conversation was over. "I have to do this, and soon. I won't be able to live with myself otherwise."

Gwen folded her hands and bowed her head. She caught Viro's worried face out of the corner of her eye and sent him a grim smile in return. "Yes, my lady," she demurred. "Just--promise me you'll be careful?" she asked. "You'll go see him with a plan?"

"Oh yes," Morgana said, her mouth curving into a razor sharp grin. "I have a plan all right. Uther will be forced to see reason. He'll have to."

She placed one hand firmly on Brecan's head. He closed his eyes resignedly and released a tired sigh.


	3. PART ONE: Chapter One

Gwen stood motionless in the corridor, a laundry basket canted against one hip. A hastily-knotted headscarf hid her long curls, and the drooping slant of her shoulders reduced her. She stared unblinking into nothing. Viro leaned against her ankle. His ears lay flat and even his nose was still.

Merlin spotted her as he rounded the corner carrying washing of his own. His slow footfalls soon brought him near. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Oh, hello," she replied.

"Washing day, is it?" Merlin asked.

"Well, I thought, you know, that her things ought to be stored," Gwen began, "even if she... because they likely won't be needed for a bit. You see." She shifted the weight of the basket in her hands. "And her bed linens were due for a wash soon at any rate, you know, and--"

"I know," Merlin said. "I'm headed there myself. Would you... I could take your load down, if you like?"

Gwen's eyes dropped down to the basket. "Please," she said after a moment had passed, her voice catching in her throat.

Merlin set his basket down and reached to take hers. As soon as he hefted its weight, Gwen bent to scoop Viro into her arms and turned to rush down the corridor. Merlin watched her go, his mouth a thin line.

< _Damn Morgana,_ > he thought as he dumped the new load into his own basket.

<Damn yourself first,> came a distant, curt reply. The voice echoed a bit in his mind--Archimedes must have been dozing.

<No one asked you,> Merlin shot back. He grabbed the laundry and stomped down the hall. Perched on his shoulder, a green beetle clacked its wings.

* * *

That evening, Merlin entered Arthur's chambers to find the prince reclining on his bed with Penstemmon, his lynx daemon, lying across his lap. He scratched her spotted, tawny head absentmindedly and hardly flinched at the bang of the door. Merlin frowned; Arthur and Pen hardly ever touched, even in private. He wasn't sure what to make of the way Arthur's fingers ruched Pen's fur. Pen raised her head to look at Merlin and rose deliberately to her feet; Arthur's hands dropped away.

Merlin wished, fleetingly, that he might do what a friend could and let his daemon go to comfort Pen. Two things made this act impossible, the first, of course, being that Arthur was adamant he had no need for friends. Especially servant friends, and most especially servant friends named Merlin.

"Your dinner, sire," Merlin said, placing the warm tray carefully on the table.

Arthur sighed and sat up just as Pen descended to the floor. Merlin turned to tend the fire keeping the early spring chill at bay.

"Wine first, Merlin," Arthur commanded as he scraped his chair back and settled into his seat. He pulled the tray cover off and dropped it to the table with a clatter.

"Sorry." Merlin sent a quick command to the illusory beetle now crawling down his arm, causing its wing coverings to shake. He supposed that would convey some emotional response.

The other reason he could not allow his daemon to comfort Pen was that he could not allow his daemon to be seen in Camelot at all. Bird daemons such as his owl, Archimedes, were exceptionally rare and only ever settled in people with magic. The beetle on Merlin's shoulder had stood in for his daemon since he and Arc were fourteen. These days, Arc mostly patrolled the castle granary for rats.

Beetles did not have the capacity for a wide range of emotional expression, and few found it odd that an insect daemon refrained from the usual kinds of socialization. Merlin had never worked out a way to give his illusion the power of speech. "Selenia" never spoke to anyone, and therefore neither did Pen to Selenia. Merlin suspected Arthur believed his beetle's silence was the most properly subservient thing about them.

Arc couldn't have been more different. Merlin saw him shaking awake in his mind's eye, letting out a very un-owl-like groan. Merlin held back a grin.

"Today, Merlin?" Arthur prompted, holding out his goblet. Pen huffed.

"Sorry, again," Merlin said, grabbing the pitcher. He poured Arthur some wine and a few moments passed in silence. The clink of Arthur's cutlery put Merlin's teeth on edge.

"I suppose it's expected you might be a bit... distracted, at a time like this," Arthur conceded softly after stabbing at his cut of meat. Merlin, bent over the fire, said nothing.

"I keep trying to understand," Arthur went on. "Why would Morgana seek out magic? Was there someone who... who corrupted her? Clouded her mind? I always thought she was happy here." He shifted to face Merlin's back. "You knew her too, Merlin. Did you ever notice anyone suspicious around her? Was there any gossip among the servants?"

Merlin slowly placed another log on the hearth. "No, sire," he replied. "But..."

"But?" Arthur prompted.

"Well... Gaius says that magic isn't only something people seek, you know. People--some people, anyway--can just have it. They're born with the magic inside them, and--"

Arthur slammed his fist on the table. "How _dare_ you insult her, you _absolute_ cur!" He was on his feet in an instant and Pen's hackles spiked. No trace of amusement colored his tone. "The Lady Morgana was... _is_ as noble and pure as any lady of the court and if you ever suggest she was born... _tainted_ like that again I'll have you in the stocks for a week."

Merlin whirled around and overbalanced, falling on his backside with a thud. Eyes wide, he sputtered, "No! Arthur, no! I only meant that it might have frightened her. If it manifested. She might not have known--"

"Enough," Arthur said, his voice deadly cold. "Get out now. Before you say something we'll both regret."

Shaking, Merlin got to his feet and left the room without another word.

* * *

The chill that settled between Merlin and Arthur lingered for days before the first warm spell of the year allowed Arthur to get outside and spar his tension away. The warmth also heralded the castle's transition into a new state of normalcy. Weeks passed. Merlin felt his chest unclench the first time he heard Gwen laugh with the kitchen maids. Arthur had seen that she had been granted a new position, and she now led preparations for the noble guests coming to Camelot with the spring.

The only person unmoved by the weather was Uther. He brooded, shortening his audiences and remaining silent at mealtimes. Saja, his boar daemon, looked so ferocious she dissuaded all but the most determined from approach. Pen and Arthur were the only pair who regularly braved her, and Merlin gave the king an especially wide berth.

One fine evening, after finishing his duties for the night, Merlin crept upstairs to a little-used council room with a window that happened to look out on a tower wall. He magicked the lock and conjured a light after closing the door behind him.

<Alright, you great feather duster, I'm here,> Merlin called as he opened a window pane.

When Merlin couldn't go beyond Camelot's walls, he met Archimedes here. The approach to the castle room's window was not easily visible from the outside and the lock kept most castle denizens away. Gaius had cautioned Arc against appearing at the physician's chambers: with his mottled brown plumage, long ear tufts and astonishing golden eyes, Arc was a large, striking owl, sure to be noticed. Arc was inclined to agree.

Merlin released a great sigh as a dark shape swooped silently inside and alighted on his outstretched arm. Arc furled his wings and fluffed his feathers as Merlin drew him close, tucking him into the space beneath his chin. Arc's grip was gentle; Merlin hefted his solid weight. Though the two could separate for many, many miles, they felt strongest when their heartbeats were close. They had learned separation by necessity, not choice. 

"Nearly a week, you wretched monkey," Arc groused aloud. He pressed his face into Merlin's neck.

"The knights are back in training--Arthur's running me off my feet," Merlin said. "You know that. Plus the new arrival today."

"The scholar, you said."

"The same--Geoffery's in a state! One minute he's muttering about usurpers and the next he's fawning all over the man. 'My esteemed colleague,' he calls him." Merlin gestured grandly with his free hand.

"Has Camelot ever had a visiting scholar before?" Arc asked.

"Not that I'm aware of." Merlin shook his head. He moved to sit at the small table in the center of the room. Arc hopped to the surface and turned to face him, and Merlin reached out to stroke the downy feathers on his breast. "Uther doesn't usually care much for men who aren't fighters."

"Curious," Arc mused. "I'll see what sort of eavesdropping I can do--though the library window is difficult to monitor."

"You'll manage," Merlin said, grinning. He poked Arc's breastbone and earned a sharp nip for his troubles. "How are the rats?" he teased.

"Devious as ever," Arc sighed. "And the cats can't be bothered--I don't know how this place functioned before we came around."

Merlin laughed. "Well--"

"Hush!" Arc cut him off. He twisted his head completely around to face the door. <Someone's in the corridor,> he warned.

Merlin froze for an instant, then looked about frantically. The few wall hangings were thin and flush with the stone, and no alcoves or wardrobes offered other hiding spaces. Merlin cursed-- _why_ hadn't he worked out that invisibility spell by now? A key rattled in the lock. Arc launched into the air and sped out the open window just as the handle began to turn. Merlin stood--he'd have to face whoever it was head on. At the last minute, he hastily extinguished his mage light.

The door opened and Arthur entered bearing a torch.

"Merlin?" he asked, stopping dead.

"Er, hi!" Merlin called, waving awkwardly.

"What are you--"

"Gaius was crushing skunk cabbage," Merlin interrupted. "The whole place smells awful. Couldn't sleep a wink." He schooled his features into solemn stillness.

"So you came here," Arthur said. Pen's ears twitched.

"Yes."

"To sit in the dark."

"It's very restful." Merlin smiled. His face was all edges.

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, light the candles at least. Make yourself useful." When Merlin didn't move, he waggled the torch in his hand. "Now," he said pointedly.

As Merlin scrambled over to the door, Arthur turned to look behind him. "You'll have to excuse my manservant, Darius--he's a bit... slow. Beetle daemon, you know," he stage-whispered.

Oh, right! Merlin hid his face to obscure the flash of his eyes as he conjured Selenia back into existence. He flitted from one candelabra to the next as the scholar, Darius, and Uther--to Merlin's great surprise--entered the room.

"That will be all, Merlin," Arthur said as the last of the candles were lit.

"He might as well stay," Uther countermanded. "His service may be of use."

Merlin nearly dropped the torch in shock. He met Arthur's eye, confused, but the prince nodded and gestured for him to stand vaguely near to the table. 

"I thought you said this meeting was to be strictly confidential, Father," Arthur said as Merlin skittered over.

"And you've often said your manservant is unfailingly loyal," Uther returned. "As well as entirely simple." Merlin coughed. "A useful combination, wouldn't you say?"

"Very good," Darius chimed in. He was very fat, and though his dress was plain, its fabric was of the finest quality. Two rings winked on his smallest fingers. His otter daemon sniffed the air and wound herself around his feet, grasping a small leather bag in her teeth.

Arthur bit his lip to hide a grin and purposely avoided Merlin's eye. Darius sank into a chair with a creak and Arthur and Uther took positions on either side. Merlin stood two paces away.

"Your majesties," Darius said, inclining his head towards Uther and lacing his fingers together, "I came to Camelot directly because I believe I have found a solution to your troubles. If I am correct, not only will the Lady Morgana be restored to her former self, but magic--all magic, and its very source here in this world--will be vanquished forever. Your life's great work will be complete."

<Magic's source?> Arc said in Merlin's mind. <Magic simply _is._ There is no such thing. >

Merlin wasn't so sure. His stomach dropped--even if this Darius were entirely misguided, whatever he was about to say would no doubt herald some ridiculous quest that would have Arthur risking life and limb. And probably also camping. Merlin sighed when he realized he'd be getting hardly any sleep that night. He tugged peevishly at his neckerchief.

"Go on," Uther prompted.

"Magic has long been conceived as an invisible, unknowable force beyond the natural order," Darius continued. "A happy accident, however, has shown me this is not the case. Consider the rings upon my hand." He held up his arm to display the gold and jewels. "Though they appear identical, I know that one of the two was crafted by a smith later convicted of witchcraft. My great discovery has been to determine a means by which to see this."

His daemon clambered onto the table, still carrying the small satchel. Darius nodded his thanks and took the bag from her to draw out a square, palm-sized piece of glass. Next, he removed a brown bottle and pulled out its stopper before tipping a drop of oily liquid onto the square. Uther was rapt as he smeared the oil methodically across the surface.

"Now look," Darius said. He held the glass with thumb and forefinger over the rings on his other hand. Both Pendragons leaned in and Merlin stepped forward, craning his neck to see.

Points of golden light hovered in the air beneath the oiled glass. They drifted like dust motes but went every which way--they were not drawn towards the ground. Instead, they clustered around Darius's hand. Both rings had attracted clouds, but the cloud around his pinky ring was denser and more brilliant. Merlin thought it was beautiful.

"Behold, the source of magic itself!" Darius proclaimed. "You see it pervades the air and contaminates everything. The particles are clearly drawn to the ring worked by the magic user, but they are also spread about, waiting to be called into action by the words of a spell."

Arthur reached out and passed his hand through the space beneath the glass. Achingly bright particles revealed themselves, clinging to his fingers.

"I'd wager you've been the victim of magic before, my lord, if you attract it as strongly as that," Darius said.

"Indeed I have been," Arthur replied grimly.

"It's foul!" Uther declared. "And you said you've a method to clear this scourge away?"

"Yes, my lord," Darius said. He placed the glass down on the table and leaned back in his seat. His daemon began to clean off the glass with a cloth produced from the satchel. "Writings from a traveler recorded some hundred years ago speak of a substance called Dust. The writer promoted several odd ideas about its nature and origin which I have dismissed following my own investigations, but he does suggest, and I agree, that Dust is the source of magic in this world. More to the point, he also describes an object apparently capable of _destroying_ the Dust."

"And what is this object? Where is it now?" Uther pressed.

"No one knows, sire--though I do have some leads," Darius hastened to say. "The object is some form of dagger, or perhaps a sword. Its edge never dulls and its tip is said to be so fine it can cut the very air. This blade can open portals to another realm that draws the Dust away. The Dust is attracted to this place and drifts through the opening as though borne on a strong wind. If the blade can be recovered, and a suitable portal opened, Dust could be cleared from this world--perhaps even in a matter of hours."

Arthur jerked his chair back and perched on the edge of his seat. "Father, I would ask your permission to search for this blade, in whatever manner Darius may suggest," he said, as Merlin knew he would. Merlin bit his tongue, hard. Pen remained statuesque as ever but betrayed her own excitement with flaring nostrils and slatted eyes.

"What more do you know of it, Darius?" the king asked appraisingly. "How certain are you that the story is true?"

"I cannot say, my lord," Darius admitted. "Though there is likely something to it, as evidenced by the behavior of the Dust itself. Regardless, the potential benefit is so enormous, I believe the possibility worth serious investigation. I have even discovered a promising description of the blade's last known whereabouts."

"Well?" Arthur said impatiently, clearly frustrated with Darius's small efforts at pageantry.

Darius remained unfazed. "It is held by a spirit in the form of a lady who inhabits a lake in the North. She is said to be guarding the blade until the next traveler can prove his worthiness to bear it."

Uther raised his hand to forestall Arthur's obvious reaction. His boar daemon grunted. "It shall be your quest, my son, if you want it. You'll choose a company of three of your knights and set out without delay. Darius, I assume you have more information on the whereabouts of this supposed lake?"

"Yes, my lord. You see..."

Merlin tuned out the remainder of the conversation. His palms had gone sweaty and a buzzing settled into his ears.

<Archimedes?> he called faintly.

<I'll go wake Gauis,> he answered.

Merlin clenched his fists and sucked breath through his nose. It was going to be a very long night.


	4. Chapter Two

Gaius did not know of Dust, and he'd never heard of the blade or the lady in the lake.

"Then again," he conceded, "you might fill many volumes with all I do not know." He and Merlin sat at the table in his chambers with a lone candle as their only light. A light breeze from Arc's open window made the flame gutter. Avia, Gaius's water snake daemon, curled around Arc's foot where he stood on the tabletop. 

"But what if it is real? What do I do? How do I keep Arthur from... from cutting all the magic from the Earth?" Merlin pleaded.

"I imagine that will depend on the way this quest unfolds. There may well be an opportunity to help things go awry, as it were," Gaius said encouragingly. 

"So I'm just going to have to work it out on my own, then," Merlin groaned. He dropped his head into his hands. "When has that ever gone wrong?" His voice was muffled against his palms.

"Fortunately, you'll have my wise council to guide you," Arc said primly. Merlin barked a short laugh in spite of himself.

Gaius looked quickly to his daemon, nodded once, and made to stand. "There may be something else that can help you on the way," he mused. "Uther keeps it in the vaults. It is called an alethiometer."

"What does it do?" Merlin asked, looking up at Gaius.

"It shows the truth," Gaius answered simply.

"No," Merlin shook his head vehemently. "No, I certainly don't need another crystal showing me visions. _Nothing_ good comes of that, Gaius."

"The alethiometer is different," Gaius replied. "It does not show what might be, it communicates what is. You might, for example, ask it whether this mythical blade exists at all, and learn how much truth lies in Darius's stories."

"That... sounds rather useful, actually," Merlin said. Then he sighed. "I'm going to have to steal it tonight, aren't I?"

"Don't get caught," Gaius agreed. Avia released a breathy hiss that covered up her bubbling laugh.

* * *

Fortunately, thanks to Merlin's gift for misdirection, his superior ability with illusions, and no small bit of luck, it took him only three quarters of an hour to retrieve the slightly concave metal disc fitting Gaius's description. The polished metal had a flat rim with 26 symbols etched along the border.

Gaius took the disc from Merlin's hand eagerly and laid it on the table. He poured a small measure of water into the center and beckoned Merlin closer. Archimedes flew up to a wall fixture and settled in to watch.

"How does it work?" Merlin asked. He rubbed his gritty eyes and rolled his shoulders--dawn was closer than he liked.

"I never used it myself," Gaius admitted. "There was once a great book to guide its use and interpretation, but I am afraid it was lost in the Purge. With a basic understanding, however, I am hoping your magic may make up for the knowledge we lack."

"All right..." Merlin said warily.

"The symbols have many meanings. They are the language the alethiometer speaks. The baby, for instance--it might represent an infant, but it might also mean a new beginning, or the fruit of a difficult labor. You may ask your question by choosing the symbols that match your intention and fixing them firmly in your mind. Its magic will answer you with ripples upon the water."

"That all sounds... complicated," Merlin said doubtfully. "Why not show images? Or words?"

Gaius shrugged. "As I said, what I don't know could fill many volumes. It comes from old magic. I hope with time all may become clear."

"Time is one thing we don't have just now," Merlin grumbled. He clapped his hands together and rubbed his calloused palms. "Right. Let's try it."

He settled at the table. How should he frame the question he wanted to ask? The blade--that was easy, a sword was one of the symbols. But then Dust--magic--was tricky. Magic didn't have an image. Though there--a dragon symbol. A creature of magic might just do.

"And the boot," Arc said confidently. "For crushing. That's destruction."

"All right," Merlin agreed. He took a deep breath and placed his hands flat on the worn wood to either side of the alethiometer. Sword, dragon, boot. Blade magic destroy? Can a blade destroy magic? Was Darius's story true?

Merlin stared hard into the shallow pool of water for nearly a minute, but nothing came to pass. A renewed attempt brought a slight undulation to the water's surface, but Merlin wasn't entirely sure that hadn't come from his own breath.

"Perhaps you should begin with a simpler question first," Avia suggested. She and Gaius were sitting across from Merlin.

"Perhaps I'll ask it if it knows where we are right now," Merlin mused. But would that be easy? _Right now_ could be the candle, for the passage of time. _Where_ might be the tree, for its roots in one place. And _us_ perhaps the tiny figure of a man?

Tree, man, candle. Tree, man candle! Merlin felt a sudden weight on his shoulder as Arc alighted there. Tree, man, candle. Merlin willed his meaning to drop from his eyes into the bowl.

At last, a golden haze began to gather on the water's surface. _Tree, man, candle!_ Merlin thought gleefully. Arc let out a short hoot. A ripple sprung up as though a droplet had fallen into the water; peaks and troughs danced across the surface in concentric rings, pointing neither here nor there. Then they quieted, until suddenly something like an invisible finger drew a line across the water's surface. It moved from the center to the edge and stopped by the image of a pointed jester's hat.

Gaius gasped. "Amazing! Wonderful, my boy. Can you make out the meaning?"

Merlin scowled. The alethiometer was active no longer, but it was entirely clear in its meaning and intent. The jester's hat: a fool. _What are_ you, it had said, _an idiot_?

* * *

Merlin fought the weights in his eyelids by blinking furiously as he struggled to heft the saddle onto Arthur's horse. Her warm, clean animal scent and the close air of the shuttered stables were incredibly soporific in the still hour following dawn. He couldn't stop the yawn that cracked his jaw after he finished tightening the girth, just as the prince himself swooped into the stables.

"At this rate we'll be dawdling here til nightfall," Arthur said, smooth and easy. "Where are my packs? We didn't keep you up all _that_ late last night, Merlin."

"Skunk cabbage-head," Merlin mumbled.

"What?"

"Your packs are ready," he said more clearly, gesturing vaguely in their direction. "I'm nearly done tacking up."

"Good, good." But Arthur wasn't listening. He was already making to leave, but suddenly, he stopped. " _Mer_ lin. That's your gelding in the cross-ties," he accused.

"All right, you win--you can identify your horses." Merlin grabbed the packs and began tying them to the saddle. His fingers flew over the smooth leather without thought.

"Tell me, at any point last night did I indicate you would be coming on this quest?"

"Remember, sire, I _am_ unfailingly loyal..." Merlin parroted Uther's tone.

"It's the 'simple' part that concerns me." Arthur crossed his arms and settled back on his heels. Pen sat down at his side. "I can't be watching your backside every minute--you do know we must cross the Perilous Lands."

"All the more reason you need me." Merlin finished with the packs and looked up to meet Arthur's eye, summoning his best disarming grin. "Who else would you use as bait?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but Pen gurgled a small growl of amusement. "As if a wyvern would go after a scrawny toothpick like you," he shot back.

"Then it's hardly a problem!" Merlin said brightly.

Now Arthur, outmaneuvered, scowled. "If you slow us down..." he warned.

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin said shortly, tucking in the corners of his smile.

Arthur glared at him, shook his head, and walked out. The relaxed crinkles around Pen's eyes gave them both away.

* * *

And that was how Merlin found himself plodding along behind Arthur with Kay, Bors, and Leon at his back. Kay and Leon's hound daemons trotted near the front of the procession while Bors's small bear lumbered in the rear. Pen, as ever, matched Arthur at his side. Merlin spared a thought for Archimedes, who gamely followed their trail, flitting from tree to tree out of sight.

The sun shone on their departure and birds twittered in the bright woods. The trees' bare branches swelled with the promise of spring. Arthur had a song in his heart--he was even doing a bit of _humming_. Though Arthur's hands were soft and his seat easy, his mare had picked up his on energy and strode forward at a crisp pace.

Midday brought a brief stop to eat and allow the horses to rest. Merlin was packing up the dregs of their meal when Arthur came to stand casually beside him.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Arthur mused aloud. He crossed his arms and looked away, surveying the knights as they readied to remount.

Merlin tied off the provisions sack and lifted it. "It was a nice bit of cheese," he agreed.

That earned him a crack of laughter. "The quest, you idiot." Arthur rapped him on the shoulder. "Look at us--for once, we're being proactive. We're not sniveling in front of some sorcerer, not reacting blindly to magical attack--we have a plan, and when we've won, magic will be defeated forever. _That_ is what feels good."

Merlin managed a small smile as he shouldered past Arthur to tie up the sack.

"Come on, you're not scared, are you, Merlin?" Arthur teased, following him. His tone caught the attention of the other knights, who turned and smiled.

"N-no," Merlin stated, moving mechanically over his mount's buckles and straps.

"It's not the quest that's worrying him, sire, it's the Lady," Kay called.

"The Lady of the Lake," Leon agreed. "Merlin's rather afraid she'll cause him to show off his two left feet."

"Don't worry lad," Bors chimed in. "You can leave the charming to us!" He adopted a rakish pose, puffing out his chest and startling his mount into a prancing step. The company guffawed and Leon's daemon howled; Arthur ruffled Merlin's hair and backed away. Merlin let out a long, slow breath.

He had been up all night with the alethiometer, trying again and again to get it to communicate. So far, all he'd learned was that it responded only when Archimedes was touching him, and its discourse was so cryptic it might as well be nonsense. Gaius had urged him to keep trying, though, so the silver disc had come along, tucked into the bottom of his pack. How he'd find the privacy to use it on the journey, he had no idea.

Arthur's cheery declaration had brought his mind back to the bigger problem at hand. Assuming Darius's tales were true, what on earth was he going to do? Should he stop the party from reaching the lake? How could he do that without hurting any of them, or revealing himself, or simply ensuring Arthur would come back to try again?

Did this mean the time for him to reveal his powers was indeed at hand? Must he use the journey to convince Arthur that magic could be a force for good?

"Oi," Arthur's reprimand broke through his deliberations. "Today, Merlin?"

With another smile, Merlin hurriedly mounted his horse.

Afternoon passed into evening and the party stopped to camp for the night. As Merlin butchered the rabbits Arthur had snared in preparation for dinner, the knights reclined around the fire.

"All's I know is a man's daemon tells you everything of importance," Bors was saying. Though they'd packed only a scant amount of watered wine, Bors always made a point of relaxing at the end of the day. He leaned against his bear daemon's flank and poked idly at the crackling flames with a long, forked stick. "Courage, honor, strength--the daemon reveals it all."

"So that's why your Laria's so large--she's showing your secret love of sweetmeats!" Kay said. His wiry hound sprung to her feet and dropped into a play-bow before the bear's nose, wagging her tail and grinning.

"My strength, you mean," Bors shot back. His bear opened one eye and let out a soft huff.

"The strength of your stomach," Leon agreed. His proud hunting dog joined Kay's and now both pounced on the bear's broad haunches. 

She soon rolled and batted them away, growling good-naturedly. The three knights watched with amusement as their companions traded tumbles and nips. Bors's bear scored a decisive victory by maneuvering the hounds so she could sit on both their heads.

She didn't expect Pen to leap from behind and bowl her to the ground. The sturdy lynx climbed over the bear and turned to face all three knights' daemons, her eyes glowing in the orange fire light. Daring and swiping, she danced around them for a few moments before closing in to wrestle each in turn. Growls and yowls and scuffling leaves ended in Pen's triumph over every one.

"Bors is right," Arthur declared smugly once the bear had exposed her throat in submission.

"You mean Pen's revealed your secret love of showing off?" Merlin chirped mildly as he tossed the meat into a pot with some tubers.

"Just as your beetle reveals your unique capacity for being completely annoying," Arthur deadpanned.

At this, Pen padded up behind Merlin and lowered her head, fixing her eyes on the shining green illusion now clinging to Merlin's back. Merlin looked over his shoulder to see her waiting.

"Um..." he said hesitantly, shifting his gaze to Arthur's in question.

"Oh, go on and let Selenia down," Arthur said. He made a flippant gesture with one gloved hand, but his eyes were steady and serious. "Pen's hardly going to _eat_ her."

Merlin froze. Pen had never attempted to interact with his beetle before. What did she mean by this? Arc had helped him craft the illusion to make it seem as real as possible, but Merlin was well aware it was no substitute.

<You've got to do it,> said Arc suddenly in Merlin's mind. <Don't worry, I'll distract them.>

With a pulse of silent thanks sent Arc's way, Merlin scooped the beetle off his shoulder blade and slowly lowered it to the ground in front of Pen's nose.

Everything was still. The fire had burned down to noiseless coals and its smoke rose straight into the air. Each of the knights had half turned away, but their sidelong glances and rapt daemons belied their interest in Merlin's movements. Arthur stepped back, his face now in shadow but his posture still firm. Pen didn't move a muscle until Merlin retracted his hand to reveal the beetle. It bobbed its antennae and spread its wing coverings among the leaf litter on the forest floor.

Just as Pen began to dip her head, a sharp wooden _snap_ and a long screech rang out in the nearby wood. The knights were on their feet in an instant and their daemons leapt to formation at their sides. Merlin scrabbled to retrieve the beetle as Arthur called, "Leon, with me!" and unsheathed his sword.

Before they charged away from the fire light, however, a great tawny owl flew by repeating a shrieking call. "Hold," Arthur said, raising an open hand.

The sound of the owl retreated and Arthur and his men began to relax. A few beats passed.

"Extra vigilance on the watch tonight," Arthur commanded. He looked at each man in turn before locking eyes with Merlin. "And hurry up with that food," he snapped. "I'm starving."

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin said quietly. He settled the pot over the fire and went to hunt for his favorite cooking spoon. Conversation resumed, low and subdued, and Pen's eyes stayed fixed on the beetle for the rest of the silent night.


	5. Chapter Three

Two days' travel passed without event. They had finally reached the edge of the Perilous Lands. Leafy woods had given way to shrub-marked grasslands before emptying into this, the hard dark clay of a dried-up swamp. The horizon stretched on ahead, punctuated here and there by the gnarled limbs of a standing dead tree.

Arthur led the company across the border without so much as a word or even a second thought. Though no trail showed the way, the open space made it easy to stay on course by using the sun as a guide. It was hot now, unseasonably so, as there was no breeze to stir the air around.

As they traveled, though, clouds began to gather high overhead. Cirrus wisps threaded across the open blue expanse, sparse at first, but soon more numerous and overlapping, intertwined. No birds sang. Everyone knew a storm was on its way.

Merlin was frustrated. He'd managed to sneak away for a chance with the alethiometer the night before. Arc had joined him, but the risk had come to nothing. Framing a question was just too hard--the reference images could stand for _anything_ , and without the lost books Merlin feared they would never figure it out. The best he'd gotten was a few half-hearted ripples on the water.

The company made camp under a green-lit sky now obscured by the swollen underbellies of towering cumulus clusters. They had caught no meat for dinner--their meal was jerky and cheese and tart, overwintered apples. The horses had grain, for they couldn't eat the grass. Merlin portioned out the water from their skins to conserve the amount they must carry forward. Arthur brooded, and the knights kept mostly to themselves.

"Kay, first watch," Arthur said clearly as the men laid out bedrolls for the night. "I'll take second."

"Yes, sire," Kay replied. He knew the rotation as well as Arthur, but it felt necessary to speak up against the oppressive feeling pervading the air.

The rest of the men settled down to sleep.

<Goodnight, Arc,> Merlin called out.

<Goodnight, Merlin,> his daemon replied.

Hardly an hour had passed before the first fat drops of rain fell onto their exposed faces. Merlin, who'd only been dozing, shivered and curled tight beneath the waxed cloth he'd laid over his bedding in an attempt to keep it dry. The puckered impacts of each raindrop on the cloth were hard and heavy and Merlin had the feeling he was going to be up all night.

Then a flash, and a great crack like the sound of a splintering oak tree brought the whole camp to alarm. Horses screamed and stamped and Arthur and the knights leapt to their feet. Merlin sat up, too, as the intrusion on his camp wards set his nerves jangling. What he saw made him shout in fright. Three men advanced on their company in heavy plated armor carrying massive steel blades. They were visible because each emitted its own sort of yellowish glow, though any sound they made was masked by the clatter of the rain. Clearly they were otherworldly--magical. And Arthur didn't stand a chance.

Their company's tack and armor had been bundled away to protect it all from the storm. Each man had only his blade and his daemon's teeth and claws to go against the metal monsters bearing down on them.

"On me!" Arthur bellowed, and of course the knights obeyed. They were soaked through already, hair and fur matted against bodies and rain streaming over their wide, unblinking eyes.

Then Merlin noticed one other thing--one very important other thing. His bedroll was placed directly between the two opposing forces, and he would be very much in the way.

He shrieked, <Archimedes!> and scrabbled on hands and knees through sucking wet mud to escape. He heaved himself over a bleached, fallen log and cowered on the other side.

<On you,> Arc called back, and Merlin saw he was already on the wing. Releasing a sob, Merlin closed his eyes and _transferred_.

He and Arc could do many things that ordinary folk could not. Their mind-to-mind conversations were unique; non-magical pairs could only converse aloud, or at best pulse feelings back and forth. Mind-to-mind visualizations were another step beyond, and this final ability was something they'd never even discussed with Gaius. Merlin's mind jumped fully into Archimedes's body and he surveyed the impending massacre from the air.

The driving rain meant Arc had to pump hard to keep himself aloft, so Merlin cast a quick spell adding lift to his bedraggled, soggy feathers. He was chilled through. Below them, the battled had joined, and great clangs rang out amidst shouts and growls and roars. They were in such close quarters; what could Merlin do? He suspected the armored men were not true men at all, so his usual tricks--heating sword hilts and the like--wouldn't help here. Casting firebolts from the air would only risk hitting the knights. No wind would separate the fighters. But the ground--the ground! The enemy in their heavy armor wouldn't be able to escape the ground.

Merlin-in-Archimedes dove down, emitting a long, keening cry. He swooped round and round the fighters, tagging the spots beneath the enemies' feet before alighting on the ground himself and calling out clearly, "Horuséa? nú!"

The owl's eyes shone and mud began to bubble beneath the boots of the monsters. Arthur and the knights scrambled back as their enemies were sucked down into pits of muck, wobbling and flailing with their blades. When the knights were clear, Merlin launched himself into the air once more and called, "Heofonf?r!" to summon lightning bolts that blasted the dark creatures into ashes.

"What was--" Leon's amazed cry followed Merlin as he beat his wings steadily upwards. He had to get out of sight; he had no illusions about what would happen if he were to be captured. Thank goodness none of their daemons could fly.

He went to ground again after putting a few minutes' distance between them. The rain was already lessening--it _had_ been a mage-storm, then, not the natural weather.

<Who--> Merlin started to ask as he settled against the earth and tried to catch his breath.

<We'll talk later, you have to get back,> Archimedes interrupted. 

<Right,> Merlin replied. With a gasp and a twist he let himself _slide_ over into his own body.

He kept his eyes closed; he was overwhelmingly dizzy, and sticky, and cold. The noise of rushing wind receded from his ears. It was replaced shortly thereafter with a loud, frantic shout.

"-erlin!" he heard. " _Mer_ lin, blast it, _where are you_?"

Arthur. Was he hurt? Merlin's pulse jumped into his throat as he struggled to sit up behind the log. "Here!" he called out, weakly at first. "Here!" His voice grew stronger and he staggered to his feet.

"Arthur!" Another voice, female--one Merlin hardly ever heard. Pen bounded into view and slid to a stop at Merlin's feet. She looked up at him with frantic eyes and the bunching of her muscles caused Merlin to think for one wild moment she was about to leap on him, to tackle him, and he took a step back for fear of breaking the daemon-touching taboo.

"Merlin!" Arthur charged out of the darkness to join Pen at her side, his hand grasping blindly for her ruff. He'd been splashed with mud and coated in fine ash from the vaporized monsters, but his bright eyes were steady and Merlin saw hardly any blood.

"Are you alright?" Merlin asked shakily, extending one arm forward.

"What about _you_?" Arthur snarled back. "I've been yelling my head off for five minutes--where have you been?" He was a furious sight, practically vibrating, and if he had not been entirely sodden Merlin thought his hair might have stood on end.

Merlin gulped. "I think... um, I think I... got knocked out?" he offered meekly.

"Gods help us, you look fine to me. Now come, Kay is hurt." And with that Arthur stepped forward and snatched up Merlin's arm, dragging him over the log and back towards the camp.

"The medicine bag--it's bundled with the armor. There's dry wood there, too. We need a fire." Merlin said as they approached.

"You heard him, Leon," Arthur said over his shoulder. He didn't stray from Merlin's side.

The clouds had cleared almost completely and a waxing gibbous moon emerged, bathing the camp in its reflected white light. Kay had been slashed in the leg and blood oozed inexorably from the wound despite pressure from Bors's hands. Kay lay on his side, breathing shallow and quick, while his hound whined and circled his body. When Merlin tried to crouch down, Arthur's grip checked him before Arthur realized he was still holding on and quickly let him go.

"Do you think you can help, lad?" Bors asked, skepticism warring with hope in his tone.

"I've assisted Gaius with many accidents," Merlin replied. He was proud of how evenly he spoke.

Arthur, for once, stayed silent.

"I've a light," called Leon. He hurried over bearing a blazing torch in one hand and a bundle of wood in the other, the medicine bag slung over his shoulder. His hound carried a stout log in her teeth. Arthur took the torch and held it close to Kay while Leon dropped the firewood and handed the bag out to Merlin.

Bors removed his hands from the wound, causing Kay to hiss and Merlin's stomach to turn. The cut was long and deep, perhaps even to the bone, and Merlin had no doubt the blade that made the cut had been tainted by dark magic. He swallowed. Blood pulsed from the gash in time with Kay's thready heartbeat. Merlin looked up briefly, wishing with all his might that Archimedes were by his side. He didn't have Gaius's skills; to save Kay's life, he would need his own magic.

< _Merlin!_ >

Merlin looked down, and all the blood drained from his face. The space between his feet was _glowing_ , and inside the little ball of gold, Archimedes himself had begun to materialize.

<What are you doing?> Merlin shouted at his daemon. He willed himself to stay still.

<It's not me!> Arc shot back frantically.

Bors was right there--he was looking right at them!--and Merlin braced himself for a violent reaction. He shut his eyes. And then... nothing.

"He's frozen, move him aside." Arthur's voice cut into Merlin's awareness.

"No!" he pleaded, bending forward in a weak attempt to shield Archimedes from sight. "Um, woundwort, I need the woundwort. In the bag. It's the green fuzzy leaves."

As he waited for someone to retrieve the plant, he chanced another glance down at his feet. Archimedes was indeed standing there, plain as day, but Bors's gaze had passed right over him without the slightest flinch. Was Bors... protecting him, for some reason? Or--

<Arc, d'you think you're invisible?> Merlin asked as he accepted the plant and began stuffing it into Kay's wound.

<We never managed to make that spell work before,> Arc said cautiously. <But do you know what... I think I am.> His voice was awed. He turned around once in a circle and flared his wings a bit before settling down again.

Relief surged through Merlin's heart. Confidently now, he switched all his attention to Kay and the task at hand. He began muttering under his breath, dipping into the medicine bag over and over again and ducking his head to hide the flare of gold as he wove bursts of healing magic into each poultice he applied. He couldn't close the wound entirely without revealing himself, of course, but he could remove the blade's curse and stanch the blood and create an anchor for the slow process of natural healing and regeneration.

How much time passed, Merlin couldn't say. At length, he realized he'd done all he could and sat back heavily on his heels. His shoulders ached. His back was hot and dry as tinder from the fire Leon had built behind them, but his sleeves and front were still stiff with damp and cold. He shivered and shuffled around to face the flames, surreptitiously shepherding Arc along too.

The firelight glinted off Pen's eyes from where she sat, watching, on the other side of the circle.

* * *

In the morning, Merlin peeled back Kay's dressings. He was pleased: the metallic scent of blood still prickled, but no putridity had set in overnight. Kay was even sitting up, with Leon's assistance. He looked down at his own wound.

"Gods," he breathed. "What will... how..." He was still weak from blood loss, and the willow bark in the medicine bag could only do so much for his pain. If Merlin gave him too much he would start bleeding again.

"You will recover," Merlin said seriously. "You'll need Gaius to see to you, but there is no reason your muscle won't heal fully in time."

"Amazing, lad," Bors said to Merlin. He clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Last night I thought he was done for! I had no idea we had a physician in our midst."

Merlin smiled and turned his face away, feeling his cheeks begin to warm. He began retying Kay's dressings.

"Can he sit a horse?" Arthur broke in. He was standing back from the crowd that was crouched around Kay's leg.

"He'll have to," Merlin frowned. "He'll ride double until we get him back to the wood--we can use branches there for a sliding litter."

"Good," said Arthur. "I want you ready to depart as soon as possible."

"Of course, sire," Merlin replied. Then he stopped and looked up at his prince. The set of his jaw and the tone of his voice told Merlin there was something he wasn't quite understanding. "Wait a moment," he paused. "When I said 'we,' I meant, you know _we_. All of us. We are all going back, aren't we?"

" _We_ are pressing on," Arthur said, gesturing to Leon, Bors, and himself. " _You_ will be taking Kay back to Gaius."

Merlin's face grew hotter, but not from embarrassment. "Absolutely not!" he sputtered. He jumped to his feet and stepped over Kay in an effort to reach Arthur. "If you're going on, then I'm going too."

"Kay needs a physician's attention," Arthur said stuffily, arms crossed. " _And_ I'm giving you an order."

"Kay only needs bandage changes, which any idiot could do," Merlin said over him. "And you need me with you."

"Oh I do, do I?"

"Yes! What if we're attacked again? What if _this_ happened to you?" Suddenly, Merlin realized he and Arthur were very close. He could study every grime-covered crease on Arthur's face and lock on the glitter in his steady blue eyes. Arthur's breath, released in a sharp exhalation, made him blink. 

"I'll take the risk." Arthur gave no ground.

Merlin grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Gods, Arthur! So you're brave--we get it, _every_ one knows it. Would it be too much to ask for some smarts as well?"

"How, exactly, would you say this decision lacks intelligence?" Arthur voice was low now, but his words were crisp and sibilant.

"You're not just risking yourself--chancing your life is chancing the future of all Albion!" Oops. Merlin snapped his mouth shut and took half a step back. He swallowed and tried again. "Of Camelot, I mean. So if you're going through with this ridiculous quest you might as well take people with you who can help. Like me. I know the risks too."

"And I'll not risk you!" Arthur pushed back into Merlin's space and grasped his shoulder with crushing force. 

Merlin gasped and reached out instinctively, splaying one hand against Arthur's chest. He stared and stared, and Arthur stared back until his mouth twisted and he shoved Merlin away. Merlin staggered, almost tripping over Kay behind him. He raised his hand to touch the place where Arthur's thumb had dug in beneath his clavicle. Nearby, Pen released a low growl.

Merlin looked down and took two long breaths. "How am I supposed to lift him?" he said quietly after a moment.

"What."

"The wood is nearly two days' ride back," Merlin said carefully. "Kay's companion will have to help lift him in and out of the saddle. How am I supposed to do that?" Still averting his eyes, he gestured to his thin frame.

Leon cleared his throat, catching Merlin by surprise. "It is true that Bors or I would be better suited to riding with Kay," he offered, his tone carefully neutral.

Arthur looked around then, seeming to realize for the first time that he and Merlin had an audience. Red blotches bloomed on his cheeks and he made several abortive movements with his arms before releasing a guttural sigh and gritting his teeth. He stared off into the middle distance. "Fine. Bors, you'll escort Kay. Get any supplies you'll need from our _physician_. The rest of you, be ready to leave within the hour."

Merlin looked appraisingly at Leon, who nodded back in return. Then Kay let out a low groan and Merlin escaped to retrieve more of the willow bark.


	6. Chapter Four

<Wyverns. Great,> Merlin sighed as he looked up at the dark shapes circling in the pale sky. <Arc, do you mind?>

<Do they really have to be so bloody high up?> Arc grumbled. He heaved himself into the air and started climbing. As wyverns weren't full dragons, they did not require a full dragonlord's command--a dragonlord's daemon would do.

In the aftermath of the mage storm, bright sun once again shone down through cloudless skies. It was cooler than before, though, with the intermittent flicker of a breeze. A low line of rocky hills had appeared on the horizon, doubtless the source of the wyverns descending on them now. They were aiming to approach the hills and follow them north until they flattened into a great forest. Merlin was not altogether excited about the prospect of what else might be waiting for them there.

Arthur and Leon had been quiet since Bors's departure with Kay. Everything sounded subdued, from the muffled thud of hooves on packed earth to the jangle and creak of their tack. Even their daemons were silent at their sides.

Merlin took the space to sort out what exactly had happened the night before. Those monsters had been no natural creatures from the Perilous Lands--the _crack_ announcing their arrival had probably come from magical transportation. The storm, too, had been deliberate. Their party had been targeted for slaughter, and very effectively at that. Who had done it? And why, and how? How long before they tried again?

The one bright spot in the whole experience--aside from saving Kay's leg, of course--had been the burst of unexpected magic that summoned and protected Archimedes. It had felt strange. Really, it hadn't felt like anything at all. It reminded him of being very young and _wanting_ the toy his mother had placed out of reach before suddenly finding it in his hand.

They couldn't trust the invisibility to hold, however, so Arc was trailing the company once more. Merlin could see him now, a speck in the sky, closing in on the soaring wyverns.

"It's that owl again," Leon called out. He brought his horse up, stopping Merlin behind him. Arthur paused and looked back.

"I don't like it," Leon's daemon said.

"Swords," was Arthur's only reply. He drew his blade and gathered his reins, looking up and tensing his shoulders. Leon made ready as well.

"What?" Merlin said dumbly.

"Make yourself scarce, Merlin," Arthur said. "If that owl sends those wyverns down on us I doubt they'll be fooled by you hiding next to some log."

"Why would the owl do that?" Merlin was incredulous. They'd seen Arc save their lives only the night before!

"It's magic," Arthur responded grimly. "You didn't see, but it cast spells during the battle last night. It's some sorcerer's familiar, following us. It distracted Kay and allowed the dark knight to strike him."

"What?" Merlin repeated. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

In the meantime, Arc had done his job, and the wyverns had begun to disperse.

"Damn it all," Arthur swore, pulling at his mount's head and turning her in a tight circle. He kept his eyes on the sky.

"The owl--it _helped_ you last night, I saw it!" Merlin protested.

"Shut up, Merlin! Leon, they're scattering. Move to the rear and look out for an approach." As Leon hastily complied, Arthur wheeled back to face forward. He kept his sword high. After a tense moment, he muttered, "That bird did not 'help' last night--and how would you know, anyway? You'd fainted."

"After I saw it suck those monsters into the mud and blast them with lightning! How is that not helping?" Merlin let his voice ring out.

Pen's growl cut him off. "They got stuck in the mud because they were _heavy_ , idiot," Arthur snapped. "And then the sorcerer finished them off because they'd failed. Honestly, it's a miracle you can dress yourself in the morning."

"What does that say about you?" Merlin shot back.

"Now is _not the time!_ " Arthur roared, turning to level Merlin with a burning glare.

Merlin's heart dropped. The naked fury in Arthur's eyes showed no flicker of questioning or doubt. Arthur's hatred for magic was so entrenched he could not recognize aid when it literally flew in front of his face. He was paranoid and righteous and Merlin didn't have any idea how he could ever, ever get through to him. They stood on opposite sides of a chasm so wide, no rope would span its length.

"The wyverns won't attack," Merlin said hollowly. "The owl sent them away."

"Why on earth would it do that," Arthur asked quietly. Dangerously. He had frozen in place, seemingly captured by Merlin's strange tone.

<Merlin,> Arc warned.

"Because--" Merlin's voice wavered, and he stopped. Swallowed. "I--I don't know why. But after the wyverns scattered they all turned and headed for that same line of hills, didn't they? It's not like they can surround us that way."

Arthur blinked. He flicked his eyes skyward, then over Merlin's shoulder towards Leon. Then he looked back at his sword. "We'd best look out for them when we get there, then," he bit out, lowering his weapon. "Leon, guard the rear."

"Yes, sire," Leon replied, and then the company was moving forward again.

As Merlin's gelding shuffled along, he let his eyes squeeze closed. He wouldn't cry--he couldn't. He sucked long breaths in through his nose to forestall the lump building at the base of his throat. He thought of Gwen and her father, and of Gaius on the pyre after the witchfinder's accusation.

He thought of Morgana in the throne room, announcing her magic to the assembled court. She never did things by halves. Standing tall in a glittering crimson dress with Brecanyth sleek at her feet, she had conjured a cold flame that danced in her outstretched palm. The court had been aghast, frozen, and looked to Uther for guidance.

Uther had ordered the guards to advance with hardly a moment's thought. "For your protection," he'd called out as they surrounded her. Arthur had been by his side, gaping.

Morgana's eyes had changed, then, from clear and defiant to bright with rage. After the smoke and explosions had cleared, one guard was dead and Morgana nowhere to be found.

If Morgana's olive branch, however prickly, had been cast aside so easily, what hope did Merlin have of changing Arthur's mind? Arthur loved Morgana. He'd idolized her as a child and sparred with her as a young man. She was a one-time confidant and practically a sister and Arthur would sometimes even admit her to be a friend. Yet he'd done nothing in the throne room to come to her defense.

Merlin knew why, of course--shock and surprise, fear of his father--but Arthur had never questioned magic's evil in all the days that had followed. He had never reflected on the proposal Morgana had started with; he only saw the dead guard at the end.

A familiar wave of guilt washed through Merlin as he played the court scene over in his mind. He hadn't done anything, either. That had been prudent at the time, but it only reminded him of all the other instances in which he'd done nothing. He'd never revealed himself to Morgana after he and Gaius had become aware of her burgeoning magic. Would it have been different, if Morgana hadn't felt so alone? Could the two of them together have found a strategy to make the Pendragons understand?

All those opportunities, lost. And now this: a prince with fear in his heart, committed to destruction. Merlin had failed. He'd failed before he'd even begun.

<Merlin,> Arc nudged into the swirl of his recriminations.

<My heart,> Merlin called back. He almost lost control of a sob.

<We're not through yet, you ape,> Arc chastened gently. He made a promise. <I'll see you tonight.>

Merlin opened his eyes. He let out a deep, bone-weary sigh. <Tonight,> he agreed. There could be no going back.

* * *

Invisibility, it seemed, was not so difficult to grasp. This time, Merlin wished it on himself once Arthur had gone to sleep and Leon had turned his back to the dying fire. He'd gotten up with an excuse waiting on his tongue, but Leon hadn't even batted an eye when Merlin crossed his field of vision. His daemon, too, stared blankly through him.

The full moon lit Merlin's path. He crept along until two bedraggled shrubs and a rocky mound separated him from the campsite. Reaching out, he refreshed the camp wards that would alert him to any threats to Leon and Arthur in his absence. Then he sat down and put his head in his hands.

Talons pricked skin as Arc's weight settled on Merlin's leg and soft feathers brushed the back of his hand. Merlin lifted his head. Arc looked at him soulfully for one long moment before leaning and snaring his finger with a hard bite.

"Ow!" Merlin yelped, jerking backwards. "What was that for?"

"You've been moping all day," Arc replied, "and it's giving me a headache. It's not getting us anywhere so you might as well stop."

"It's just that easy is it?" Merlin scowled and flicked Arc's ear tuft in irritation.

Arc sighed. "No," he said after a moment. "But I imagine we should try." And then he tucked himself right up under Merlin's chin and fluffed his feathers. Merlin stroked his back and let the day's sadness well in his eyes.

But the long, silent ride to camp had sucked his emotions dry, and what tears came only trickled. Merlin sniffed and wiped a sleeve across his face.

"I brought the alethiometer," he said dully into the still night air.

"Might as well," Arc sighed. He hopped back onto the ground and fanned his tail.

Merlin unwrapped the device from the tunic he'd carried it in and placed it on the ground before his crossed legs. Whispered words conjured some water into the shallow dish and then Merlin stopped, peering at the symbols shadowed on the rim.

He let his eyes fall closed. _What am I doing?_ he thought to himself, feeling utterly defeated.

<You seek the sword,> came a prompt reply.

"Arc?" Merlin blurted, whipping his head around.

"Not me!" Arc's eyes had widened into full, round circles.

"Is someone else here?" Merlin called out tentatively. The space around them remained silent.

<Is... someone else here?> he repeated slowly, this time in the space that held his connection to Archimedes's mind.

<No,> the same voice spoke. Only it wasn't a _voice_ , exactly. It was more an awareness of meaning, like the understanding that comes in the split-second echo after hearing the sound of a word. And this time, Merlin saw a golden glow flash across the rippled surface of the water.

<What is speaking to us now?> Merlin asked. He held his breath and pressed his hands into the rocky ground on either side of the alethiometer poised at his feet.

<Intentions,> came the reply. <Though you call it by other names. Dust, sometimes. Usually Magic.>

Merlin and Arc locked eyes once more, not even daring to speak mind-to-mind. 

<Why can we speak now when we couldn't before?> he went on.

<You have lived as a man for many years. It is a necessary burden, but it means you must relearn your nature.> The voice, so flat until this point, now sounded almost... cheeky.

<And what is my nature?> Merlin took the bait.

<Intentions,> the voice trilled. <Dust. Magic.>

Merlin frowned and Arc gave a sharp click of his beak. "When I _wished_ I could have you with me, and safe..." he whispered aloud. Then in his mind, sternly:  <What's all this business with the symbols, anyway, if you can just speak?>

<The alethiometer was created as translation device for mortals. For you, it is merely a convenience for focus of thought.> The glow on the water grew brighter and Merlin fought the instinct to shut his eyes against the glare. <Look for me, Emrys,> the voice commanded. Then the glow began to die out.

"Wait!" Merlin yelped. The glow had gone but flashing afterimages still dazzled his sight. Arc, so much more sensitive to the light, had closed his eyes entirely and was now blinking in the wan moonlight that remained.

"Well?" Arc said after a moment had passed.

"That was... weird," Merlin said, rubbing his face as a wave of fatigue crashed over him.

"Aren't we going to look?" Arc stared single-mindedly at the silver bowl. 

Merlin just wanted to lie down. "How? Where?" he yawned.

"Here, now!" Arc said immediately. His gaze did not waver.

The urgency in his voice renewed Merlin's alertness. Arc was positively captivated. Merlin sensed a yearning in him, like the harmonic quiver of a taut string responding to the sound of a matched note. Only Merlin heard no note being played--so he _looked_ at his daemon, and looked, trying to find whatever it was that had drawn so strong a response. 

Suddenly, Archimedes bloomed all-over gold. Merlin fell back with a gasp, cringing as sharp rocks bit into his palms. Arc unfurled his wings and bright motes flew from the tips of his feathers to swirl in the surrounding air. He was positively incandescent. The Dust--for Merlin was certain that's what it was--didn't simply cover Archimedes. Arc _was_ Dust, Dust in owl form.

Mesmerized, Merlin could not look away. As time passed, however, he became aware of a glow creeping in at the periphery of his vision. When he glanced to the side, he realized he could see Dust _everywhere_. It was scattered sparsely in the air but clumped into drifts around the scrawny bushes poking out of the soil here and there. It moved about slowly as though caught in a gentle current, but one with many eddies that caused the motes to curl back on themselves and swirl up into the sky.

What was Dust? _Intention,_ the voice had said. _Magic._

Merlin looked at a shrub to his left and before the spell's words could even begin to form on his lips, the branches of the bush burst into crackling flames. Dust contracted about the bush and sparked the fire into being, then stayed hovering nearby while the fire burned without smoke or heat.

<Look,> Arc said, and Merlin realized he was meant to look down at himself.

He and his daemon were just the same. This was not like the haze of Dust that had surrounded the scholar Darius's hand beneath the oil-glass, or even the brighter cloud attracted to Arthur. Merlin was Dust through and through, molded into the shape of a man.

"What--" Merlin breathed.

At that moment, his stomach rumbled. Merlin blinked, and the luminescence surrounding him began to dim. Soon, the only sparkle the remained came from the stars in the velvet sky.


	7. Chapter Five

He was halfway back to the camp when his wards tripped. Heart lurching, he broke into a run for a few strides before realizing that the disturbance had come from something inside the camp walking _out_. Merlin stopped still and let out a low groan. He hoped desperately that Leon had simply gotten up to relieve himself. Because otherwise...

"Merlin!" Arthur's whisper-shout sizzled in his ears. _Otherwise_ it was. They'd noticed he was missing.

"Over here," Merlin called timidly, realizing he had no other options. He started a slow jog back to the camp.

"Where did you get off to?" Arthur scowled as Merlin approached. Pen sat at his side, projecting annoyance with the twitch of an ear. Behind them, Leon was holding a torch lit from the rebuilt fire, and his hound circled his legs.

"I had to pee?"

"Your bedroll was cold," Arthur accused.

"It's a nice night," Merlin said defensively. "In fact, Leon, the moon's so bright I'd think you'd see better without the torch."

"The torch isn't for sight, lad," Leon said gravely.

"Then what--"

"May I remind you," Arthur interrupted icily, "that we are still in the Perilous Lands? That we were attacked deliberately only a day ago, and there's no telling what could set upon us in the dark?" His hand strayed to the sword hilt in the scabbard on his belt.

Merlin clenched his jaw. Sometimes, playing the part of the hapless manservant was just... just... too much. 

"Well, I'm back and I'm fine. Sorry," he said shortly, pushing past Arthur to reclaim his bed. Annoyingly, he realized he sort of did have to pee now.

"What's this?" Arthur grasped Merlin's shoulder, arresting his movement. To Merlin's horror, he plucked the cloth bundle holding the alethiometer out from under his arm.

Oh gods. Merlin's brain stuttered and his jaw dropped open, but he could think of no words to explain. Arthur began to unwrap the bundle.

<Hide it, you daft ape,> Arc shouted suddenly in his mind.

Oh. _Oh_. Intentions! With a wave of shocked gratitude, Merlin closed his eyes and pictured the alethiometer safe and hidden in the bottom of his pack. He took a breath and looked up to see Arthur clutching the now-empty tunic, grasping at the fabric as though searching for something.

"It's a shirt," Merlin offered after a moment. "I was cold, but then I ran back when you called and I got hot so I took it off so..." He arrested his babble by biting his lip, hard.

Arthur, exasperated, bunched up the tunic and threw it at Merlin's head.

Merlin had just begun to relax when his wards tripped again. It was outside-in this time, and the intruder felt very, very big. Merlin froze, then jerked his head to the left as though he'd been startled by a sound.

"Something's out there," he whispered, pulling his arms up against his chest.

"What?" Arthur said, his tone caught between wary and incredulous. He angled himself outwards and his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

Though the moon was clear and bright, Merlin's vision was spotty after being overwhelmed by the roaring campfire. He blinked and squinted and was just about to ask for Arc's help when the dark shape he'd taken for a pile of rocks suddenly began to _move_. It leapt forward to shock and overwhelm them now that it had lost the surprise of the ambush.

The horses shrieked and stamped in fear, and Merlin stumbled back as the creature crossed the threshold of the fire's illumination. A dark, feline body with outstretched claws surged towards them. Where he would have expected a roar, however, there came a spitting hiss, for the beast had five long necks that ended in five triangular snake heads with smoldering red eyes. The flickering firelight threw an orange cast over its rippling fur and slick, oily scales. Each of its open mouths was punctuated by pairs of glistening white and no doubt venomous teeth.

Its rushing advance was blocked by a blow from Leon, who bellowed and charged it from the flank. He sliced into its forequarters with his blade and brandished the torch he carried in his other hand to ward off a head strike while he danced back out of reach. His daemon landed a bite on the creature's damaged limb and barely escaped a kick from its hind claws. The creature stumbled from the momentum of their attack but pivoted nimbly, ready to bear down on the seeming gnat that had jabbed it in the side.

Arthur kept his wits and lifted his sword to chop at one head as it was moving between targets. His sword sang through the thick, muscular flesh and the head and neck fell with a muffled thud into the dust.

The knights' defense would have been drill-perfect had the creature had not had the ability to regenerate what it had lost. A knot of new scales emerged from the wound in a pulse and soon formed another head, slimy and wriggling, while the severed flesh fizzed and fumed on the ground at the creature's feet.

In the meantime, the creature struck at Leon and only his reflexes with the sword and the torch kept its teeth at bay. Arthur circled back to cover Leon's flank and Pen gathered into a crouch, ready to launch at any opportunity to strike at the creature's belly or heart.

Merlin sat where he had fallen near the fire. His mind whirled as he desperately tried to work out what to do. He couldn't afford to "faint" this time, and neither did he want to make Arc a target for Arthur or Leon in the fight. The knights could win their own battles, he knew, but this creature was clearly magic, and the disintegrating head on the ground likely meant it would take more than simple steel to defeat it.

His earlier awakening had seemed to show that anything was possible, as long as Merlin could imagine it. What could he imagine here that would get them all safely out of this mess?

The creature and the knights exchanged snaps and strikes, but neither side could now manage more than glancing blows. Arc altered the balance by diving into the fray on silent wings and gouging a snake's eye with his talons.

<No!> Merlin shouted when he realized what Arc meant to do. <You'll be hit, you have to stay away!>

The snake head recoiled and Arthur took the opportunity to stab at the base of its neck. Acid blood bubbled out and pooled on the ground. 

Arthur turned. "Leon, watch--"

His directive was cut off when another head curled around and bit deep into his side. His screams and Pen's dissonant yowl made the edges of Merlin's vision go white. The creature lifted Arthur's body in its jaws and a stream of hot blood poured through the sieve of his chainmail to splatter wetly on the ground. Pen flew at the creature in a panicked rage, only to meet its ripping claws and the threat of a strike from another scaly head.

< _NO!_ > Merlin shook and thunder rumbled, though the skies had been clear only a moment before. Twin lightning bolts struck and the creature simply vanished, obliterated so completely not even ash was left behind.

Arthur fell to the ground with a crunch, unmarked by the lightning blast but with blood from the snake's wounds still flowing freely. A limping Pen, covered in claw marks, heaved herself to his side.

Merlin sprang from the fire and shoved a crouching Leon aside in a mad rush to reach his prince. _Arthur_ , he thought. _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!_ He pitched forward and bruised his knees on the hard ground by Arthur's head. He grabbed Arthur's arm with one hand and placed the other flat on his chest.

When Arthur had fallen, his ragdoll limbs had crumpled at unnatural angles and his head had cracked and lolled to the side. He opened his eyes at Merlin's touch, but his gaze was unfocused and glassy. Blood-tinged spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth.

"No," Merlin whispered.

The rest of the world simply faded away. Merlin's heartbeat surged in his ears as his vision narrowed only to Arthur's slack face. He called for Archimedes because he needed their entire self and then he grasped Arthur's cheeks in his palms and he _opened_.

As Arc's weight settled onto Merlin's bent back, the staticky tingling that crackled just behind Merlin's fingertips coalesced into a swirling current that flowed into the deep pit of Arthur's mangled abdomen. Merlin breathed, and each exhalation released a surge of power from his core. Arthur's body soaked it up like parched earth beneath a summer rain.

Arthur began to stir, blinking and struggling to focus, but with his revival his body only called to Merlin more, and more, and so Merlin stroked his face and widened the channel his magic was carving between them. Arthur grimaced, but Merlin could see he'd gone very bright, and he gathered more power to burn the dark out of him and chase the venom away. He could sense Arthur in the eddies and whorls that returned along the channel. He could feel the broken bones and torn flesh; the puzzle of his body was so shattered that Merlin's mind could not comprehend how he could will all its pieces back into place. His magic was sustaining Arthur, but in order to save him, Arthur would have to be remade anew.

Merlin and Archimedes were radiant now, combined in a dense sun of golden light and heat. Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes and thought of Arthur's love for his people as he crafted his new shoulder blade. He called on Arthur's fierce loyalty to weave the tissue of his lungs and on his honor to wrap the fibers of his heart. Arthur's face contorted, and Merlin supposed he might be screaming, but he pressed on and on in order to make and mend. Every flaw in Arthur's body was incinerated in the blazing fire of Merlin's intentions.

Moments passed that might have been hours. Once he knew that all had been put to rights, Merlin sealed his craft with the press of dry lips to Arthur's sweaty, dirt-encrusted forehead. He raised his head and looked down into wide, clear, frightened eyes. Merlin blinked, and then he sagged, and as the magic light began to dim around them he slowly began to smile.

A sudden pain lanced through his chest and Merlin jolted forward before being dragged back again. A reflexive gasp turned instead into a spasm. Confused, he looked down, only to see red splotches blossoming across Arthur's body once more. What was--

Archimedes shrieked like a rusted grate as the pain tore through Merlin again. This time, looking down, he saw the point of a sword protrude from his belly. It was his own blood that dripped onto Arthur's mail. He'd been stabbed. Leon had run him through.

He looked up and saw Arthur's dear face, his mouth now open and his lips forming words that failed to penetrate the buzzing that had settled into Merlin's ears. Arthur reached up and grasped Merlin's shoulders; Merlin grabbed back with his hands on Arthur's chest. Arthur's shining eyes were the last thing he saw before he pitched forward and everything faded to black.


	8. PART TWO: Chapter One

Arthur burned. He'd thought he'd known pain from the snake head's poisoned bite, and oblivion from the explosion and his fall, but this eclipsed everything. He had fire in his veins, in his core, in his bones--he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them from boiling away. Wave after wave of agony ripped guttural screams from his chest and Arthur knew he was in hell, knew the torment would never end.

Then a soft touch brushed against his forehead and suddenly he was quenched, as surely as a sword plunged into cool water after emerging from the forge. There was a shock, and Arthur felt marvelously numb for a moment before a tingling sensation began skittering up and down his limbs.

He opened his eyes and saw, of all things, _Merlin_ hovering above him. He gasped; Merlin's irises blazed molten gold and a haze of shining dust haloed his head. His face was slack and his gaze unseeing. 

Arthur tensed, bewildered and paralyzed, and then attempted to struggle against the pressure he slowly recognized as Merlin's hands cradling his face. A new panic rose in his chest until the moment Merlin finally blinked. Merlin's grip relaxed and his brow furrowed. When he opened his eyes again, they were inquisitive and blue, and a guileless smile creased the corners of his mouth.

Arthur gasped a great heaving breath and made to speak, but he was cut off by Merlin suddenly jerking forward and back. Puzzled, Arthur glanced down in time to see Leon's sword impale Merlin a second time. A great cacophony caused all the blood to rush from his face.

"STOP!" he bellowed, grabbing Merlin to move him bodily out of Leon's reach. "Leon, no!" Arthur sat up in an instant, rolling Merlin to the side. As Merlin turned in his arms, a flurry of wings beat in the air around his face and brought him up short.

"Let go of him! Get away!" The wings belonged to an owl. No--they belonged to _the_ owl, the one that had been following them for days. The owl that was now shouting at him in a piercing, panicked voice. Arthur's grasp on Merlin's arms grew tighter.

"Everyone get back," Arthur warned, staring at the great bird. He shifted Merlin's weight and moved his free hand towards the dagger he kept in his boot.

"Unhand him, you sickening pig!" the owl shrieked, rising higher into the air.

"You can't have him, sorcerer," Arthur spat. He kept his eyes on the bird and watched peripherally as Leon drew his sword back to strike. Leon's daemon was poised for a following tackle.

Sensing danger, the owl pumped his wings powerfully and rose out of reach. "He is mine," he called down. "I am his _heart_!" With this proclamation, he dove straight for Arthur's face.

From behind, Pen leapt and knocked the owl out of the sky to bowl him over in the dust on the ground. Arthur and Leon looked on, jaws clenched, as Pen angled for the killing blow. They were shocked when she dropped him. She hissed and backed away; all her fur stood on end.

"Stop, all of you," she said authoritatively. "He's not... dangerous." She paused. "He's a daemon."

Echoing silence followed her declaration. The owl gathered himself with a rustle of broken feathers, fanned in disarray, and stood up shakily in the dirt. His luminous, golden eyes turned to meet Arthur's. "I'm his daemon," the owl choked out. "I'm Merlin's. We saved your life. Leave him, and let me save his."

Arthur froze. Merlin's weight turned to lead in his arms. He looked down at his manservant's pale, drawn face, and felt the heat of the dark stain spreading from his body. Merlin still breathed, but his inhalations were short and sharp and didn't reach his belly. Arthur's mind went completely blank.

"Put him down, Arthur," Pen said firmly. She sounded as though she were very far away. "Let his daemon in."

Slowly, reluctantly, Arthur lowered Merlin onto the ground. He had hardly drawn his arms back before the owl hopped on Merlin's chest and burrowed his head into the space beneath his jaw. The daemon let out a mournful sigh.

In the next moment, Merlin took a full breath. Bright motes winked in the air around his body, and he released a shuddering groan. Arthur couldn't look away.

Everything clicked. Arthur's heart still hammered in his chest, but the singular focus afforded by a brush with death gave way to a new, devastating understanding. Arthur sagged. For the first time in years, he felt as though he wanted to cry. Merlin had saved his life. Merlin was gravely wounded.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

* * *

The owl--Archimedes, apparently--stood guard over Merlin's form for the rest of the night and all the following day. Arthur stayed well back; Archimedes had menaced him any time he'd tried to approach or even speak. Pen, however, was allowed to be closer, and she lay motionless before them with her head resting on her forefeet.

Pen looked different, now. Though the sky was overcast, her fur had glint and shimmer, and the tips of her ears were topped with gold. Gold flecked her irises, too, and she had been transformed from something sleek and merely beautiful into a creature of achingly poised perfection. Arthur felt different, too. Far from being maimed, he didn't have a single ache or pain--not even saddle sores or the customary stiffening of his knee. His sight was sharper and his hearing keen. His childhood scars had all been swept away. He felt keyed up, full of energy, waiting for something to _happen_... but the day had been quiet and still, and the evening looked to be more of the same.

He'd sent Leon off to scout ahead after the pained silence between them had grown too great to bear. Leon had stuttered an apology and Arthur hadn't quite known how to respond. He had been screaming, Leon explained, and it seemed like Merlin was attacking him. The owl had made the scene all the more menacing. And Arthur understood--sorcerers were evil, after all. Leon had done his duty to protect his prince.

But what was Arthur's duty, now?

He owed Merlin his life, certainly, and he had a suspicion that the previous night was not the only incident for which that was true. He wouldn't execute Merlin. For more reasons than one, he didn't think he'd be able to.

Beyond that, Arthur couldn't say. A strange sensation had lodged in his chest. It had all of the tension of holding his breath, but Arthur knew of no way to release it. He couldn't even name the feeling, except to say that it amplified his sense of anxiety and dread. He had packed and repacked their kit, groomed and tended the horses, paced to the limit of his bond with Pen, and tried to sleep, over and over again. In all that time, Archimedes had spoken to him only twice: once to say his name, and once to explain that Merlin would be well again as long as he was permitted the time and the space.

Merlin, for his part, had been motionless all day. The gold around him lingered. Arthur didn't _stare_ , but he snatched glances when he dared. Merlin did seem to be improving, somehow--at least, he now looked as though he were merely sleeping instead of unconscious and hovering at death's door. Arthur noticed that Merlin and Archimedes had synchronized the rate of their breaths.

He wouldn't look. He couldn't. He should start building up the fire again.

He nearly dropped his armload of wood when Merlin let out a long groan. It didn't sound like he was in pain, though. It sounded more like... complaining.

"Gods, Arc, if you make me get up I'll pluck you for pillows. I _told_ you Arthur's been running me ragged," he whined. His eyes were squeezed shut and his back arched off the ground, arms out and hips wriggling in a full-body stretch. "Bossy bird." His tone was fond, but then turned puzzled. "Why are you here?"

In response, Archimedes bit his ear, hard.

"Hey!" Merlin shouted, heaving himself upright and clapping a hand to the bite. His eyes flew open and he wobbled, leaning back on one arm and gasping for breath. As he turned his head this way and that, Arthur saw the moment his mind caught up with everything that had happened. The color in his cheeks vanished and his shoulders climbed up around his ears.

Slowly, he turned to look at Arthur.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but found no words would come out. It was true then. All of it. In that one, brief interaction, Arthur had seen a wholeness to Merlin that he hadn't realized he'd been missing. Archimedes, now perching on Merlin's knee, was _right_ , where Selenia had simply been _wrong_.

"So what was Selenia, then?" Arthur blurted, surprised at the question even as it passed his lips.

"S-Selenia?" Merlin stammered, blinking. "Oh. Um. An illusion." He coughed. "We worked it out when Arc settled, years ago, you know, because we... we had to."

"You were corrupted as a child?" Arthur asked incredulously. He knew what a bird daemon meant, of course, but he'd always assumed it came from a magical change--a magic user's rejection of right and proper nature.

Merlin flinched. "I was born with magic," he said. "Well, actually, you could say I am magic, born." The faintest smirk flashed across his face as he flicked his eyes towards Arc. Arc fluffed his feathers in response.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped.

"We don't exactly know ourselves," Merlin said, serious again. "I don't... for us, practicing magic isn't a choice. It's just inside us--in me. And last night, before that creature came, we... we discovered that we're some kind of... I dunno, magic in human form? Person made from magic?" He looked away. "We haven't exactly had time to work it all out yet."

"When you were away from camp," Arthur prompted. "You weren't relieving yourself, then."

"No," Merlin swallowed.

"What else is a lie, I wonder." Arthur hefted his armload of wood, his muscles suddenly aching. He began to turn away but stopped when Penstemmon released a growl. To his surprise, she seemed to be growling at _him_. He scowled, but said nothing.

Her voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "Are you hungry?" she asked Merlin solicitously, pointedly ignoring Arthur. "The ground there can't be very comfortable; would you like to come sit by the fire?"

Merlin and Archimedes stared at Pen, their eyes equally wide and round. "Uh..." Merlin gaped.

"I'm sure Arthur is just on his way to fetch you some water," Pen continued. She stood, stretching, and practically purred. "Aren't you, Arthur."

His temper flared and he bit his cheek, hard, to keep in a scathing retort. Pen poured waves of disapproval through their bond and he lashed back with a blaze of anger. Fuming, he stalked over to the fire and dumped the wood to the ground with a clatter. He marched over to their provisions and yanked a water skin from the pile, then turned and marched back to Merlin's side.

He stopped himself from throwing the water at Merlin's feet. Instead, he held it out stiffly and stared, waiting for Merlin to take it. "We're still rationing," he bit out.

Merlin reached up and took the water with a little gasp that might have been pain. "We don't need to, you know," he said quietly. He sat back and picked at the cork. "I mean, I can, um, conjure it. I can get more water. So you can drink all you need."

Arthur whirled. "Just because you saved my life with magic doesn't mean--" He stopped, shaking. "It doesn't--" The words stuck in his throat. He grunted. "Saving my life with magic doesn't _mean_ anything, Merlin," he finally choked out. "It can't. I can't--I'm not only myself. I have a duty to Camelot, and one misguided idiot with some kind of death wish can't change that. _You_ can't--"

"Arthur!" Penstemmon hissed, turning on him and crowding into his space. The new gold in her eyes glittered dangerously, and for a moment, Arthur was afraid.

Sitting in the dust, covered in grime and the stains of his own blood, Merlin worked the water cork out and sighed. He raised the water skin to his lips and swallowed a long draught, spilling a few drops down his chin and wiping at it with the back of a hand. His eyes had a faraway look, striking in contrast to Archimedes's narrow gaze and the clacking of his beak.

"No," Merlin said aloud after a moment. "Arthur, you're not just some knight. I told you once you had to listen as well as you fight." He paused, chuckling. "That was a goodbye, by the way--I was sodding off to lay down my life for you. Lucky I, um, worked a way out of it." 

"But you..." Arthur gaped, and even Pen turned to give Merlin a hard stare. "You're..."

"I know. _And_ I'm magic. And I will gladly serve you until the day I die," Merlin said solemnly. Then he grinned. "Has a whole new sort of meaning now, doesn't it?"

Looking down at the smile-creased, dirt-streaked face of his friend, Arthur's stomach clenched. He drew himself up and gritted his teeth. "You're not my servant anymore," he said flatly. "You cannot return to Camelot. Once you are well, you must leave us. Forever." He couldn't stop his voice from wavering on the final judgment.

"You're banishing me?" Merlin asked in the same tone he might have used to express displeasure at the number of boots Arthur expected him to polish.

"I am." Arthur was firm. He avoided looking at Pen, who had gone very still. Suddenly, though, he had a burst of inspiration. "You _will_ be banished, until... until this quest is done. When I've succeeded, and all the magic has gone from the world... you can come back." He hated how small his voice had become. "You and Morgana will both come back."

Merlin drew a hitching breath. "Arthur," he said thickly, "That's not... it can't work like that." He exhaled. "I _am_ magic. If you get rid of it, that means the end of me." He reached out with one hand to grasp at Archimedes's back. Arc's glare was an arrow through Arthur's heart.

"Damn it, Merlin!" he gasped, kicking forcefully at a rock until his second toe blossomed with a sharp, searing pain. " _Damn_ it!"

He did the only thing he could think to do: he walked away. He crossed the campsite, hiding the wince he felt with each stiffened step, until he stood just past the horses to stare blankly into the distance under the leaden gray sky.


	9. Chapter Two

Leon returned that evening but said little beyond the bland specifics of his scouting report. It was Merlin who tried to bridge the gap, calling Leon over and speaking in halting, low tones until Leon dropped his head and his daemon bowed to Archimedes at his side. 

Arthur was cooking, trying to stay busy. He and Pen hadn't spoken since their conversation with Merlin; when Arthur had stalked away, Pen had remained, and now she lay in the firelight's shadow. Merlin and Arthur hadn't spoken again, either, even when Merlin had tentatively gotten to his feet and walked some distance off, presumably to relieve himself. He came back looking cleaner, and his clothing was neither dirty nor torn. Arthur tried not to think about how that came to be.

Merlin lay curled on his bedroll with his back to the fire. Archimedes was gone, having taken off earlier for some unknown reason. Merlin's solitary figure looked just as it always had, but now Arthur could see how much he was diminished.

He ladled his thin stew into bowls and stood to pass them around. After leaving one with Leon, he crossed over to Merlin.

"Hey," he said quietly, coming up from behind. "Dinner's ready." He stood awkwardly, holding the bowl with both hands and waiting for Merlin to rise.

But Merlin didn't even stir. Arthur peered down--if he was asleep, perhaps it would be best to leave him that way. Still, he hadn't eaten anything in almost two days, and though Merlin might be magic he still appeared to have all the needs of the flesh. He really should have something.

"Hey," Arthur said again, nudging Merlin's back with his good toe. To his horror, Merlin simply slumped onto his front, his body slack and unresponsive.

Arthur nearly dropped the stew in his haste to roll Merlin over, looking for signs of breath or pulse. "Merlin!" he shouted, grasping one shoulder and shaking his body. Merlin's head lolled back limply.

"What's wrong?" Pen was there in an instant.

"Sire?" Leon called from across the camp.

"I don't know," Arthur said. "He's unconscious, but he is breathing, just." The slight, shallow rise and fall of Merlin's chest sent a wave of relief crashing through Arthur's body. "Merlin?" he said again, quietly, reaching out to touch his face.

Then Merlin gasped, shuddering, and his body tensed as he opened wide, staring eyes. "What?" he gurgled, drawing his arms close into his chest.

"What's wrong?" Arthur barked, snatching his hand away.

"N-nothing," Merlin stammered, blinking up at him. "Why--oh. You couldn't wake me," he said, understanding.

"What happened?" Pen asked gently. She studiously avoided Arthur's glare.

"Well... I was, um, flying," Merlin replied. He addressed Pen, but his gaze flicked towards Arthur as he spoke. "Me and Arc--it's hard to explain. I send my mind into his body and leave this one behind." He gestured to himself. "It's dead useful for sneaking around. And sometimes, it's just... nice. To fly." Merlin's tone was wistful. "Arc's patrolling right now and I... I just thought it would be good for me to take a look, too."

Arthur shut his eyes and rocked back on his heels. His broken toe throbbed. "Dinner's ready," he said, gesturing at the miraculously still-full bowl lying tilted in the dirt nearby.

"Oh," Merlin said, eyebrows raised. "Thank you." He pushed himself up to sitting and reached tentatively for the stew.

"How is it that you and Archimedes can separate over such distances?" Pen asked as Merlin settled in.

"It's magic, Pen," Arthur said gruffly, still crouched. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

Merlin shook his head. "Not exactly," he said around a slurp of the stew. "It's different. There's this place in the North, Eskorta, where--"

"Eskorta?" Arthur snorted. "Don't tell me you'll have us believe in children's stories."

"It's not a story," Merlin insisted. "I've been there."

"You mean to say you've been to a place where sorcerers cut your daemon away?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

"It's not like _that_." Merlin rolled his eyes. "Honestly. No, it's just a place. Something happened to the magic there a long time ago. It made this... border. It's like an invisible wall. Humans can pass through it, but daemons can't. You have to cross, and then you walk on and on and at first there's a terrible pain, and you think you're going to break in two, but instead, after a while, it relaxes into more of a... a _stretch_." He paused to take more stew. "My mother took me there after Arc settled. I've no idea how she knew of it, but..."

"It sounds horrible." Pen shivered, and for the first time in over a day she backed up so her haunches just brushed Arthur's arm.

"It's okay," Merlin said. "I mean, we didn't want to. We wish it could have been a real choice. But Arc is still right here." He tapped his chest. "And it's really rather handy. I mean--"

"Everything alright over there?" Leon called, interrupting.

"Yes," Arthur sighed. He stood and brushed at his tunic. "Eat your dinner, Merlin," he said sternly before stalking away to grab his own bowl and sit by the fire with Leon.

* * *

Pen came to Arthur during the night, creeping close on silent feet before burrowing under the blanket and curling against his side. Her warm weight carried love and apology, but there was sadness, too, and stubborn disapproval. Arthur stroked her fur and sighed before nuzzling one tufted ear and drifting back to sleep.

He was cold and alone when he woke in the morning.

* * *

"Merlin needs another day before he'll be well enough to travel," Arthur said in the chill morning quiet. "Leon, you'll ride out today. Return to Camelot. We don't have the manpower or the provisions to go on."

Leon wisely did not question him. Splitting up was risky, of course, but Arthur needed time. Time to think, and time to talk to Merlin.

Merlin, too, was silent. He remained that way through breakfast and Leon's preparations to leave. As Leon finished cinching his saddle, however, Merlin uncurled his stooped form to meet Leon's eye and give him a solemn nod. Leon bowed his head in return.

Arthur hadn't been watching, of course, so he certainly did not appear puzzled when he approached Leon to bid him safe travels. Leon, shifting his weight from side to side, opened his mouth before closing it again. Then he set his jaw.

"Permission to speak freely, sire?" he asked softly. His daemon's bright eyes and stiff spine told Arthur he had something important to say.

"Of course," he allowed.

Leon cleared his throat. "You'll recall yesterday that Merlin called me over to speak with him after I returned from my scouting trip. I was conflicted. I was uncertain about what I had done and I did not want to face him without the conviction of knowing whether I had been right or wrong."

_Wrong_ , Arthur thought. _Wrong._ But he gestured for Leon to continue.

"There was no honor in denying his request, however, so I joined him." Leon frowned. "Sire, he _thanked_ me." He paused and glanced down at his daemon, who remained still and resolute. "He praised my bravery in battle and said he was grateful you had such a loyal knight to defend you. He said I couldn't have known what was happening and I was right to strike him down." Leon's breath hitched before he continued. "He was still in great pain, however miraculously recovered, and he..."

Arthur swallowed as Leon let his words hang in the air. "Why do you tell me this, Sir Leon?" he asked.

"I know you have duties, sire, as do I," Leon said. "But I think Merlin may be the best of us all. Do not toss him aside lightly." With his proclamation complete, he averted his gaze.

"Thank you, Leon," Arthur said solemnly. He reached past him for his horse's bridle, steadying the mount to signal Leon to boost himself up. Leon swung into the saddle and picked up the reins.

"I will wait for you a day's ride from the citadel," he said gruffly.

"At the hunting camp near the crossroad," Arthur agreed. He smacked the rump of Leon's mount as Leon spurred her forward and hardly a moment passed before they began to recede against the horizon.

Arthur watched them go, hesitant to turn around. But then he heard a scuffling noise and felt the blossom of something like amusement forming in Pen. He spun about and to his astonishment found his proud, stoic Penstemmon in a crouch, wriggling like a kitten and readying to pounce on a playful smoke dragon that swooped after Archimedes, flying low in the sky. Merlin, sitting cross-legged, had his hand raised and his eyes glittered above his bright, dimpled smile.

"Stop it!" Arthur demanded as he strode towards the tableau. "You can't enchant my daemon like that!"

Merlin grimaced and the smoke dragon evaporated in an instant. "I wasn't--"

"I wanted to see," Pen said haughtily. She sat up and pinned her ears back, looking every inch the regal animal that Arthur knew her to be. "Archimedes saw that I was curious and Merlin conjured a harmless illusion for me. Think before you speak, Arthur, and don't be so quick to pass judgement."

"Pen--" Arthur started, gobsmacked.

"No," Merlin cut him off. Grave lines had replaced his smile. "I was foolish. Sometimes I can get a bit carried away."

"Yes, and water is wet," Arc grumbled as he alighted on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin gave him a halfhearted shrug, so Archimedes pecked his hair.

Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed. "Let's get on with it then," he said abruptly. "I assume you want to talk about something, or give me some order." He slouched back on his elbows, looking up at Arthur with resignation etched across his face.

Well, there was no time like the present. Arthur sat, too, folding himself down and tenting his hands with one elbow on each knee. He inclined his head and took a deep breath of the stale, dry air.

"What was your plan?" he asked directly. "You said last night if I succeeded in my quest, you'd die. I have to imagine you intended to prevent that."

"Yes," Merlin answered without hesitating. "Well, yes, I knew I had to find some way to keep you from succeeding, but no, I hadn't really worked out how to do it. But that's not--"

"Did you conjure those knights?"

"What?" Merlin sat straight up in shock.

"Did you injure Kay to try to turn us back?" Arthur's tone was blunt and detached.

"Never!" Merlin looked angry, now, and horrified. "I saved your necks! I _healed_ Kay's leg! I put magic in his wound--in time, he'll be as good as new."

"That would only be fair if you'd caused the wound in the first place," Arthur retorted.

"Magic doesn't erase morals, you know. My mother brought me up with good ones." Merlin glared and Arc fluffed in indignation.

"Alright then," Arthur allowed, preparing to shift tactics. "The knights came from elsewhere. Someone unknown. What if Kay's injury had been worse?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you have saved him if he'd been dying, like me?" Arthur's stare was hard and unblinking.

"I--" Merlin started. He paused. "No," he admitted. "I wouldn't have done anything so obvious."

"So you have the power, do you, to decide who lives and dies?"

"Well, sort of, I suppose, but--Arthur, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Arthur's voice had gone soft, though his manner was no less pointed.

"I use my magic to serve you," Merlin said solemnly. "You, and your life, are the most important thing. I can't protect you if my head's lopped off in the courtyard, can I?"

"Oh, so you protect me." Arthur flashed a thin smile. "What do you protect me from, exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin drawled. "Only all the magic users your father radicalized when he killed their families in the Purge. And bandits, when there are too many, or when they have good aim. And marauding wild boars. And _yourself_ ," he bit out.

"And why would you, a magic user, want to help me?" Arthur did not relent in his offensive.

"Because it is my destiny." Merlin threw his hands up in the air. "Because a nasty old lizard told me you'd be a great king one day if only I could do something about your massive, fat head!"

" _Who_ told you that?" Arthur asked, momentarily taken aback.

Merlin bit his lip and shrank down, deflating, though Arc still stood proud on his shoulder. "The Dragon," Merlin said at length.

"The dragon that attacked Camelot?" Arthur asked slowly.

"The day I arrived in the city, he called to me." Merlin tapped his head. "He helped me with everything at the start. He gave me advice and knowledge when Ga..." Merlin choked and put a hand to his mouth, then dropped it and sighed when he realized there was nothing for it. "When Gaius was out of his depth."

Arthur closed his eyes. Of course Gaius had known about Merlin. He motioned for Merlin to carry on. "If this creature was so keen to help, how did it come to slaughter hundreds of my people?"

Merlin swallowed. "He got restless, I think," he said quietly. "He been down there a long time and destiny wasn't coming quickly enough. I needed his help one day and he wouldn't give it unless I agreed to release him."

" _You_ let him out?" Arthur said, lunging forward. Even Pen's ruff raised and she gazed at Merlin now with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

"I had no choice!" Merlin protested. "You would have died otherwise!"

"I nearly died anyway!"

"He would never have killed you," Merlin said.

"So that means his other murders are justified then?"

"No, just that I didn't mean--"

"I think I'm beginning to see the picture quite clearly, Merlin," Arthur snapped. "You seem to harbor this delusion that you are different from other magic users, but it is plain that you are not. You think your power gives you the ability to run around behind my back and make decisions you have _no right_ to pursue. I am the prince and my father is the king; you usurp him every time you cast a spell that affects Camelot's safety or her sovereignty. Which, by the way, is all of them." Arthur pushed himself to his feet, suddenly vibrating with energy. Pen stood as well and backed towards him. "You are nothing to me, Merlin," he said. "For all your 'help,' if you can call it that."

He turned on his heel with a clenched jaw and bowstring tendons to stalk away and find someplace to breathe. Pen trailed behind him, heedless to Merlin's frantic cries.


	10. Chapter Three

Arthur walked for a long time before he looked back and found he could no longer make out Merlin's form. He scanned the skies above, but no dark bird appeared; it seemed that Merlin was truly letting him go.

He slowed, then stopped, and looked down at himself. Well. No mail or sword--brilliant. No water, either. He'd have to go back to the camp before too long.

But not right now. Now he sat to relieve the renewed throbbing in his bruised toe. The monotonous gray clouds above stretched flat in all directions; neither time nor distance seemed perceptible in his place. He'd been walking away from the ridge line on the horizon and his surroundings had degenerated once more into dry soil and dead shrub-grass.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and let his head drop against them, just for a moment. His chest felt tight and the throbbing migrated from his foot up to his head.

Pen lay down beside him, her fur barely brushing his flank. "How could he do that?" she asked, a bit broken.

Arthur realized the stitch in his ribs meant he might be about to cry. "I thought he was so brave when he volunteered to fight with us," Arthur said. "I thought... I thought--"

"I know," Pen replied. "I thought the same."

They lapsed into silence broken only be an occasional fluttering breeze. Arthur shifted--the land was desolate, certainly, but after awhile the stillness began to feel unnatural. There was no movement anywhere: no insects or birds, no rodents, no snakes... and the air felt flat-out wrong. He quashed the sensation by taking a deep breath.

Pen shifted after a time. "Although," she began," I suppose it would have been difficult, wouldn't it?"

"What?" Arthur asked, distracted.

"For Merlin. For him to know what to do."

"What?" Now Arthur was annoyed.

"He... cares for us, Arthur," she demurred. "That, I believe, is not a lie. If he was born with magic, as he says, what would we have had him do?"

"Not practice it?" he said with disdain. "Not come to Camelot in the first place at all?"

"But he did come," she pressed. "His mother sent him away and he came to Camelot to learn."

"Yes, To learn sorcery, apparently. From _Gaius_."

"Well, yes, but..."

"But what?" Now Arthur was getting angry.

"He's a farm boy, Arthur," Pen said. She picked up her head and swiveled to catch his eye. "We know he doesn't comprehend the ways of the court. He probably just thought he was helping."

"Well, he _is_ an idiot," Arthur said, deflating.

"He could hardly ask the king's opinion on what spells or other he should use." The barest trace of amusement colored her voice.

Arthur snorted. "So, what, then, all is forgiven?"

"No," Pen replied. "But perhaps, now that we know..."

"You want him to return to Camelot?"

"I don't know," she said simply. "But I think, perhaps, we might do well to speak with him more first."

The two shared a long, frank look. Perhaps Merlin was not what they had thought he was. Perhaps he was not what Arthur once secretly hoped he might be. But perhaps, too, he was not entirely evil, and perhaps there was more to be learned.

Arthur tipped his head back and released a thoughtful sigh. He blinked, then scanned the skies. His pensive mood vanished when his sight arrested on a black shape, large and distant, that appeared to be approaching from the direction of Camelot.

Arthur cursed, worse than naked without his sword, and jumped up to begin running back to camp.

* * *

When he and Pen stumbled next to the fire ring, he saw their tethered horses bobbing their heads in agitation and pawing at the ground. Beyond them, Merlin sprawled face down in the dirt, unmoving. Archimedes was nowhere in sight.

"Flying?" Pen offered warily.

Arthur grunted and moved to gather his sword and mail, one eye tracking the shape in the sky. He was beginning to puzzle over a method to put his hauberk on by himself when Merlin suddenly released an unearthly moan.

Arthur's neck prickled and Pen's fur stood on end. Merlin writhed once, then twice, and again emitted a hollow groan. It echoed, though no mountains were near enough to reflect the sound. Arthur took a hesitant step forward.

"Merlin?" he called.

"No!" Merlin's groan gained meaning. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth contorted into a rictus as muscle spasms shuddered through his body. "No!"

"Merlin, what's wrong?" Arthur could not work out whether to attack or retreat. His heart began thudding in his chest.

Then Merlin opened his eyes. Pen gasped. They were neither gold nor sunny blue, but instead appeared a flat slate gray with pinprick pupils and round, ghastly whites.

"He's gone," Merlin croaked. He struggled to coordinate his movements until he marshaled the strength to curl in on himself. His groans broke up into deep, gut-tearing sobs and his eyes slammed shut once more.

"Who's gone?" Pen whispered to Arthur, but there was no time for that, because the dark shape in the sky proved to be a dragon.

Its leathery wings fanned stark against the sky. Within moments Arthur could make out its talons and teeth and discern the red-brown color of its tough, horny hide. Then it was his turn to gasp as he realized his was not just any dragon: it was _his_ dragon. Camelot's. The one Merlin told him he had killed.

Arthur set his jaw and swung his sword to limber up his wrist and elbow. Well. This time, he was certain, only one of them would leave this place alive.

When the dragon approached, though, it neither swooped down nor breathed fire. Instead it hovered a bit before landing gently some twenty feet from Merlin's side. Arthur's sword was up, but the dragon paid it no heed.

"Be patient, Pendragon," an old, wizened voice rumbled from the great creature's chest. He spared Arthur only the briefest glance before snaking his head over to look down at Merlin's agonized form.

"What is this, young warlock?" The dragon's tone turned tender as he leaned in to nudge Merlin with his snout. "Your soul cries out. It rends the very air."

Arthur froze in place, helplessly watching the scene before him. He hadn't known that dragons spoke like men. And why was it showing Merlin such care? What was happening?

Merlin shivered when the dragon huffed a breath over his body. "Kilgharrah," he wailed, the guttural syllables tearing at his throat. "He's gone." His fingers became claws raking up and down his arms. "He's gone, he's gone!"

Cautiously, the dragon lowered himself until Merlin could reach up and grasp his great head. Merlin's shudders diminished, but he still did not open his eyes. The dragon lay down fully and stayed silent for some moments before jerking back in apparent surprise.

"No," he whispered. Merlin's sobs returned.

With a flash of gold, the dragon levitated Merlin's body and drew him close, tucking him up against his side. He turned his breath on Merlin again, his exhalations long and steady, until Merlin fell quiet and stilled in sleep. Then the dragon folded his wings and hid the warlock from view.

"Prince Arthur," the dragon growled. "And Penstemmon. You." The full force of the dragon's regard paralyzed Arthur's attentions. He hardly dared to breathe. "Do you know what has happened? Do you know what you've caused my brother-lord to do?"

A keening noise escaped Pen's throat. "It's Archimedes, isn't it?" she whispered. "He's the one who's gone."

Bile rose in Arthur's throat. "But I thought..." he started.

"You have no notion of the truth," the dragon cut in. "Let me enlighten you. You may wonder, Arthur Pendragon, what a man fears when he knows he cannot die. Know that mere life is not everything. One still fears loss. Rejection."

Arthur winced. All the blood drained from his face.

"It has ever been Merlin's destiny to stand by your side and serve you as Emrys to your Once and Future King. He _is_ magic, and when the correct time came he was meant to lay all his power at your fragile, mortal feet that you might guide this great land into its golden age." The dragon spat as he spoke. "But again you acted without thought. You repudiated him without even an attempt to understand."

"But I--"

"You did not," the dragon silenced his protest. "You rushed to judge him after gathering a scant handful of facts. And when you left, magic began to wonder whether you were worth your destiny after all.

"Albion's golden age is meant to be a time of great prosperity and, above all, a time for flourishing, powerful, peaceful magics," the dragon continued. "But know this: it need not come about with you at the helm. Magic is power, after all. It always has other options." He glowered. "Archimedes sensed the ripple you began in your destiny. He heard Magic's call for Merlin to reject _you_ in return and claim his powers to take Camelot's throne for himself."

Arthur's ears filled with ringing and he thought that he might faint.

"Merlin, however, refused." The dragon's words dripped with disgust.

Again, Pen released a keening cry.

"And so Magic claimed Archimedes. It called him back. He tore himself from his heart and soul and fled. Where he has gone, I do not know. But _this_ is the result."

The minute settling of his wings around Merlin caused the echo of Merlin's cries to reverberate in Arthur's mind. He was absolutely going to be ill. Merlin's injury was as vile as though his entrails had been spilled across the ground, yet somehow, he still lived. Magic or not, he had been violated, and Arthur... if what the dragon said was true, Arthur might just as well have swung the sword himself.

"He will rest here tonight. We will leave in the morning." The dragon settled his head on the ground and angled himself away from Arthur. His watchful eyes did not close.

"You can't take him," Pen pleaded, surging forward before a check came from Arthur's hand.

"I must," the dragon growled. "There is nothing that can be done except to ease his suffering. Even if you had that skill, you've lost the right." The dragon closed his eyes to end the conversation, though Arthur knew he was still being observed. "And don't bother attacking me in the night. Your mortal weapons cannot harm me."

Bristling, Arthur adjusted the grip on his sword. "I've wounded you before," he challenged. His voice did not waver. "And mortal men held you captive for many years."

To his surprise, the dragon chuckled. He cracked the lid of one eye. "To think, a fool such as you will rule Camelot one day. If you live that long." His laugh turned sinister. "This is no longer your concern."

A rumble in Pen's chest met an answering vibration deep in Arthur's bones. Anger fizzled, then surged, and Arthur charged at the beast with a guttural yell and a rising haze that fogged his vision. Pen leapt at his side in perfect accord for one determined blow.

His sword bounced off scales as unyielding as metal plates. Jarring vibrations shook his arms and nearly loosed the hilt from his grip. Pen's claws scrabbled as though on ice and she slipped back to the ground with a pathetic thud, barely keeping her feet. Before either could regroup to attack again, the dragon's hard, leathery wing knocked them both to the ground and his talons pinned them where they fell.

"You insolent--" The dragon's head loomed over them as his weight drove the breath from Arthur's body. "Do you think I could have been captured if I hadn't allowed it? If Uther's hypocrisy had given me any other choice?"

Arthur gaped like a fish, his chest burning wildly and his hauberk cutting into his throat.

"Ah," the dragon continued as a new thought occurred. "But no one has ever told you, have they? You don't know any of the truth behind Uther's Purge." He grinned, baring his teeth and pressing down on Arthur and Pen with one sharp push before relieving the weight and allowing them to drink in great gulps of air. While spots danced in Arthur's vision, the dragon went on.

"I'm sure Uther taught you that he has always fought against the evil scourge of magic, but that simply isn't true. Magic was once as much a part of the court as battle tactics and medicine. Your father's most trusted advisor was a warlock of no small power." He paused to let his words sink in. "Your mother's dearest friend was a sorceress."

 _Lies_ , Arthur thought, grunting and wriggling feebly in the dragon's grip.

"I think I shall tell you a story," the dragon drawled. "Though the queen and king loved each other very much, years passed and they could not conceive an heir. They begged the sorceress for help to secure the succession. She refused time and time again, for she knew that creating a life meant taking another in its place. The Old Religion always demands a price." The dragon pressed down on Arthur again, just enough to make his breathing shallow. Pen hissed at the abuse. "But the sorceress loved her friends dearly and hated to see them so upset. She researched and read until she thought she'd found a way to direct the toll to an animal offering. And so she agreed to help."

The dragon smiled once more. "Would you like to guess what happened next? Can your stunted little mind comprehend what this could possibly have to do with you?"

"I know what you'd have me believe," Arthur gritted out. "But I know the truth. Magic killed my mother. She was attacked."

"Oh, magic did indeed take her life." The dragon made a great show of agreeing with Arthur on this point. "But there was no attack. Only balance. A life for a life. For all her careful planning, Nimueh's animal sacrifice failed."

"Nimueh!"

"The same," the dragon acknowledged.

"She is no friend of my parents," Arthur spat. "She tried to have me killed!"

"Oh little prince, the story has hardly begun." The dragon's voice took on an edge of glee. "All was well until your birth. Your mother passed on the moment you took your first breath. Her daemon vanished between one heartbeat and the next, and your father had Nimueh in the cells hardly a moment later. They argued, each blaming the other, for Nimueh's grief was almost the equal of your father's. They had both loved Ygraine.

"Uther called Nimueh a traitor and took up a sword to run her through. Nimueh vanished to save her own life, and so your father's obsession was born. Nimueh was powerful and protected herself well. When your father realized he could never have her, he began to lash out at those he could reach. He is a master of propaganda, I will give him that." He chuckled. "Within five years he had husbands turning in wives and mothers giving up their children. But it didn't start like that, no. The purge began as a war of magic against magic. Uther encouraged magic users to spy on one another in order to combat magic 'misuse,' as he called it. He sowed paranoia and fear as he shredded communities into pieces. His definition of 'misuse' grew like a choking vine until all magic was declared illegal."

The dragon paused. "I imagine you are wondering what this could possibly have to do with me," he asked casually. 

Arthur was wondering nothing of the sort.

"You know I am the last of my kind." The dragon's tone turned somber. "My race had been in decline even before the Purge, and in the early years Uther's magical squadrons did much to finish my brothers and sisters off. I evaded them," he continued, a touch smugly, "until they located my lord."

The phrase 'my lord' sent a niggle of recognition through the cavalcade of thoughts whirling in Arthur's mind. There was a question there, he was certain, but it did not form before the dragon's next words swept it away.

"Uther convinced my lord he wished for a truce with me, then the last of dragonkind. My lord summoned me to discuss the terms when Uther's men ambushed us. They threatened to kill his new bride unless he would command me to obey them. Let me ask you, young prince, what do you think happened then?"

Seconds ticked by in stony silence as Arthur held his tongue. He would not be drawn into the dragon's game. His fantastical fictions were only stories meant to confuse and unsettle.

"He refused," the dragon said into the lull. He seemed amused once more. "His stubborn loyalty is rather a family trait, it seems. He refused to command me and offered his own life in place of his wife's."

"And yet you _were_ captured," Arthur said, engaged despite himself.

"My lord is my kin," the dragon replied. "And he, too, was the last of his kind. I made a bargain and so was bound beneath Camelot to await what might come in the future."

"Why didn't they just kill you and be done with it?" Arthur snapped.

"You can thank your father's most trusted sorcerer for that," the dragon said. "He convinced Uther that a dragon subdued was more valuable than a dragon dead."

"Biding his time until another sorcerer could free you, obviously." The words tasted like poison on Arthur's lips.

At this, the dragon rumbled with discontent and smoke rose from his nostrils. He released his hold on Arthur and Pen with a sudden jerk and slinked back, curling tightly upon himself. Merlin's body was still hidden somewhere in the folds of his wings.

"I won't waste my time educating you on what you are unwilling to see," the dragon growled. "Your destiny is forfeit. Stay or go. We depart in the morning."

Arthur pushed himself up to sitting, reaching back to brush the fine dust out of his hair. The press of the dragon's talons had lifted but he still felt a weight settled upon his chest.

Twilight had blossomed while he and the dragon were sparring. Arthur's stomach rumbled. The whole day had passed, he realized, and he hadn't had a thing to eat. He looked over at Pen, who was grooming herself with deliberate nonchalance and one ear cocked his way.

"Come on," he said roughly. "The horses must be starving."

The animals guzzled water greedily, snorting and swishing their tails as they gulped from the skins Arthur placed beneath their noses. They were antsy after their fright and being tethered for so many days, and they had fouled the ground around their feet. When they had finished drinking and eating their fill, Arthur led one and then the other in a wide circle before tethering them again on clean, dry ground. He fetched the grooming kit and set in to brush them. Pen remained a silent shadow at his side.

Glancing over his mare's withers, he observed the sloping silhouette of the dragon, now some fifty paces away. The sky's weak orange glow haloed his immense, motionless form. Then the mare's muscles twitched and brought Arthur's attention back to the task at hand. Arthur soothed her with long, deep brushstrokes.

Merlin's gelding did not quiet so easily. He danced away when Arthur moved to pick up his hooves and reared his head when Arthur tried to pluck dried grass from his mane. He had rolled earlier, apparently, and the dung and dirt that clung to his coat required a strong scrubbing with a stiff brush. The gelding pivoted his hindquarters to evade Arthur's attentions.

"What's gotten into you!" Arthur shouted after the horse had shied from him for the fourth time. "You like being groomed! I'm trying to help!"

A noise like a huff of laughter came from the dragon, causing Arthur to scowl. He grabbed the horse's head and turned him sharply until the dragon was out of sight behind them.

"He's not going to hurt you, old nag," he grumbled, patting the horse's neck mechanically until his agitation passed. Then he scowled again at the realization of what he'd just said.

* * *

The evening bled into a starry night that passed without event. Penstemmon leaned into Arthur as he struggled through a fitful, broken sleep. He felt as though his very bones had been ground down to dust. Fantastical images flashed through his dreams but dissolved into pinwheels of noise and color every time he jerked awake. He was first too hot, and then too cold, though no breeze stirred and the night remained an inky black. Pen did not sleep at all.

When predawn light cast a blush across the horizon, the dragon woke and unfurled his wings. Arthur sat up a heartbeat later and looked critically to see what the dragon meant to do next.

And there. An awkward shape, small and gangly, began to stir on the ground. The dragon reached his head around and blew an enchantment across Merlin's face until he stilled once more.

Arthur scrambled out of his bedroll and strode towards them without hesitation. He stopped short at the dragon's warning growl.

"Come to say goodbye?" the dragon leered. "I'll be sure to pass on your good wishes."

"I--" Arthur's heart climbed up into his throat. He clenched and unclenched his hands as Pen paced a short circuit around his legs. "If you'll permit me," he said, swallowing, "I... I would like to ask you a question."

The dragon merely stared at him with hard, unblinking eyes.

"Why did you call him brother-lord?" Arthur ventured. He dropped his gaze to Merlin's limp body. His pale face almost glowed in the eerie, liminal light.

"Because he, like I, is a creature of the Old Religion," the dragon answered curtly. "Dust made human. In that, he is my brother. His human lineage also makes him my lord."

"But..." Arthur started, his brow furrowed. "I met the last Dragonlord. I thought--"

"Balinor," the dragon interrupted. "The man I gave my freedom for. He was indeed the last Dragonlord when you knew him."

"And how are Dragonlords... made?" Arthur pressed when it became apparent the dragon would not be more forthcoming.

"The power passes after death from father to son."

Arthur jolted back. "Then Balinor--"

"Was Merlin's father, yes. Though neither knew it until you went searching for him in his exile."

The memory of Merlin's wretched sobs after Balinor's death played through Arthur's mind. Merlin had grown up not knowing his father, Arthur recalled. And he, Arthur, had disparaged his grief over who he thought had been an unknown man.

"He never said," Arthur whispered. His eyes were locked on Merlin's face and he could not look away. What other burdens had Merlin been carrying all this time?

"No," the dragon agreed. "He never could."

Arthur tightened his jaw and pressed his tongue to his teeth. "He told me I killed you," he began slowly. "But I obviously didn't. And yet you stopped your attacks."

"Merlin faced me after you and your knights fell." The dragon's voice was low and even. "He claimed his birthright and forced my obedience."

"Is that why you came to him yesterday? Because he demanded it?"

"No," the dragon said solemnly. "When Merlin faced me in Camelot, he meant to kill me himself. He has the power and he had every right. I manipulated and betrayed his trust in order to escape my chains, and I dishonored myself and my race when I attacked your city.

"But when Merlin met me on the field, he did not succumb to his anger. He instead showed me mercy. For that, and for countless other reasons, I serve him willingly. I came to his aid because I sensed his sacrifice and knew it was too great for him to bear alone."

As Arthur looked down at his friend, it became harder and harder to believe that the dragon was lying. The dragon was proud and harsh, and not a little vain, and yet the weight of his words when he spoke of Merlin's qualities revealed a true reverence.

To his dismay, he felt tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. "What have I done?" he said without breath. "Merlin, I--"

He broke off. Trembling, he inched closer to Merlin's body and dropped to his knees at his side. The dragon looked down at them appraisingly.

Arthur reached out, then snatched his hand back.

"Is he going to die?" Pen asked, shame lacing her tone. Her ears drooped to either side of her head.

"I do not know," the dragon replied. "He is the prophesied immortal, but the prophecy has been denied. His human form has suffered injury that cannot be repaired. I cannot tell what the future holds, or what Albion's magic may decide." The dragon curled his tail near Merlin's side. "I can only ease his way for whatever comes next."

"No," Arthur said, startled at the strength of his own voice. "No. This can't be over."

"Your time is," the dragon retorted, his reproach returning full force.

"No," Arthur repeated. "This isn't right. How could I have known? How could I have known when no one told me anything?"

"How could anyone tell you when you refused to listen?" the dragon countered.

"I was coming back!" Arthur shouted. "I was angry and I left but I realized my mistake and I... I... I was coming back!" His voice cracked and he gulped a breath. "I can fix this," he said, determined. His eyes narrowed and he looked up at the dragon.

"You cannot," the dragon said. "You are mortal. You have no magic. And this problem is beyond even me."

"I don't accept that," Arthur shot back. "I will find a way." He fisted his hands and glared. Pen's hackles stood on end.

"You say this because you have triumphed in the face of the impossible before," the dragon said. "But what you do not realize is how many of those victories were only assured because of Merlin's work in the shadows."

"All the more reason, then," Arthur sniffed. He would not allow his resolve to waver. "I owe it to him to try. You cannot deny that."

The dragon leaned back, increasing his height. He examined Arthur and Pen silently for a moment before lowering himself once more.

"What is it you would try to do?" he asked, curious despite himself.

"Find Archimedes," Arthur said firmly. "That's the first step."

"And the second?"

"I don't know. I'll figure it out once I've completed the first."

The dragon huffed. The brightening dawn broke into day as the sun crested the horizon. A peachy hue burnished the dragon's thick scales and gold flecks glinted in his eyes.

"I give you three days, Arthur Pendragon," he conceded. "And you may win your destiny back yet."

Arthur's heart soared. "Will you help us?" he asked. He was already on his knees; he was willing to beg.

"In my own way," the dragon agreed. "Though for you to win the day, I think I cannot interfere too much."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Pen's voice was tinged with annoyance.

"Merlin often asks the same question," the dragon grinned. "But if you take up this task, I cannot step outside my place. I must be off."

"You won't journey with us?" Pen asked baldly.

"I will find you in three days' time," the dragon replied. "The rest is up to you."

With that, he bent his head to blow once more across Merlin's face. Merlin grimaced and turned. The dragon nuzzled Merlin's dirty black hair with one ridge on his massive head. "I will return, young warlock," the dragon promised. Then he backed away and spread his wings to take flight. He rose steadily into the pale blue sky and flew into the west until Arthur could see him no more.

Then Arthur looked down. Merlin was still sleeping, though his limbs had begun to twitch and he still continued to frown. Arthur let himself feel lost for only one minute more. One thing at a time. He would take each task one thing at a time.


	11. Chapter Four

Arthur finally managed to push Merlin up onto his horse, for though he did not know what they had to do he was fairly certain it would require leaving this desolate, wretched place. He swung up onto his own mount and took the reins to lead Merlin's. Since he had woken, Merlin remembered to start the beginnings of things, but he paused in their middles and rarely made it to the ends; interacting with him was like managing a docile, self-animated doll. He would not meet Arthur's eyes and he had still not said a thing.

"Well, Merlin," Arthur said. He could not believe the amount of inane chatter that had spilled from his mouth this past hour. Each word landed with a dull thud. "If you can't tell where Archimedes has gone, I have no idea how I'm supposed to work it out. We won't get back to Camelot in time, so we'd best head west and hope he's gone to Ealdor." His speech felt gritty. He scowled--how had he managed to sound so _annoyed_?

Pen glared up at him, opening her mouth to start a reprimand when she was cut off by the small sound of a "no."

They swiveled to face its source: a drooping Merlin, his head bowed, his body like a mound of melted wax. "Not Ealdor. The lake," he said softly.

"The lake?" Arthur asked sharply, wincing at the way his voice clanged over Merlin's whisper.

"The one with the sword?" Pen echoed.

Merlin ducked in a small nod. "He wants me to take it up," he confirmed. 

His silence stretched on and on and Arthur found he was holding his breath.

"I won't," Merlin finished. Then he folded into himself and became smaller than Arthur had ever imagined possible.

Arthur fought back against a sudden lump invading his throat. "To the lake, then," he agreed. And without another word, he toed his mare's sides and led them forward beneath a distant, uncompromising sun.

* * *

A brief midday meal passed without conversation and by the afternoon they had reached a plain by the edge of a ridge that descended into distant woodlands. The sight of something new made Arthur hungry for progress and he urged them all on in a steady march towards the trees. Darius's directions had become less clear at this point, but he was certain their destination was less than a day's ride away.

As time went on, Merlin had gone from silent and still to acting distinctly uncomfortable, grimacing and sighing and shifting about in his seat. His gelding bore him with steady surety. Arthur had chosen this mount for Merlin himself because his gait was smooth and his temperament dependable; at the time he'd told Merlin that the horse would be perfect for such an addled girl. (Merlin had dared him to say that again in Morgana's presence, and Arthur had swatted the back on his head. Merlin had grinned and ducked away.) Now, he was grateful the horse carried him so well.

Penstemmon, too, appeared touched by some discomfort. Her movements were jerky and her ears lay back against her head. When Arthur looked down to question her, though, she shook herself in irritation (for once not directed at him) and continued stalking forward.

It was all the quiet, Arthur decided. In the several days they had been in these lands they'd seen no evidence of natural life save the wyverns and the five-headed monster that had nearly succeeded in killing him. What did they eat, he wondered. Did they live on magic, perhaps? The days and days of hovering on the edge of alert were wearing on all their nerves and it was made all the worse by the nonsensical creatures they weren't encountering. He had to get them to the forest. Everything would return to order there.

As they slipped into the first tall trees, however, Arthur realized his hopes were in vain. He now understood why the Perilous Lands had been so desolate: all the creatures they'd encountered had likely wandered out of _here_.

They had barely taken a dozen steps into the wood when Arthur looked back and realized he could no longer see the baked swampland behind them. Though light filtered through the trees, the woods grew so thickly they appeared to form a wall before and behind. The chittering of an unfamiliar bird grated on his ears. Distant rustling disturbed the leaf litter and raised a mildewy scent that made him want to sneeze.

Wayfinding seemed as though it would be impossible. The sun's position was blocked by interlocking branches and no landmarks were visible to provide a bearing. They would continue on and hope to find a game trail, Arthur decided. It would eventually lead to water, and with that, hopefully, the lake.

They would have to make camp soon, though. Merlin's discomfort had progressed to a persistent trembling and the light was beginning to die. Just a bit farther, Arthur decided. It could make all the difference.

They pressed on. Pen's hackles were up and she stalked forward more than she walked. When the first beast charged them, then, she rose to meet it as though she'd been counting the seconds before it appeared.

She yowled as she clashed with the boar, knocking it away from the legs of Arthur's horse. Arthur circled his mount and drew his sword, cursing himself for not loading his crossbow where he could reach it. He'd have to engage on the ground.

As he moved to dismount, however, he quailed; another boar with wiry bristles and great, protruding tusks came running hot on the heels of the first. His heart fluttered wildly; the animals snorted and squealed and Merlin's horse shied away. Pen already had a deep gash down her side. They were not going to get out of this without a bloody fight. Arthur took a deep breath and fixed the grip on his sword. 

His battle cry was choked off by a cold roar. Merlin. Arthur whipped around; Merlin sat tall with his arm outstretched and his eyes glittering like jewels. The hard line of his mouth belied the pain Arthur could read in his stiff shoulders and rigid posture.

"Stop," Merlin commanded.

And everything did. Pen froze mid-leap and the fighting boar became a grotesque contortion of bunched muscles and bristly hair. Arthur, too, was stuck. Though he could still see and hear, his limbs had gone rigid and his tongue refused to move. Around him, leaves kicked up by cloven hooves remained suspended in the air.

And Merlin--Merlin _glowed_. Then he flicked his wrist and released the tableau, allowing the world to tumble back into motion. All except for the two boars, that is, which both slumped to the ground. Dead. Pen thudded into her assailant's body before popping up to look frantically over at the other animal to be sure it, too, was neutralized. The leaves settled gently back to earth. 

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, finishing his dismount. He dropped his reins to the ground and strode forward. "What--"

Merlin groaned and slumped forward in his seat. The light around him snuffed out and Arthur barely caught him before he slid to the forest floor.

"All right, we'll make camp here," Arthur said as he manhandled Merlin into a sitting position. "No need to be so dramatic about it."

His heart soared when the corner of Merlin's mouth twitched up.

* * *

They were out of water. Arthur cursed. He'd hoped to find a source in the forest, but the fight with the boars had put paid to that. It was all right for him, of course, but the horses...

He looked over to where Merlin sat, huddled at the base of a tree with Arthur's cloak was draped over his back. His earlier trembles had grown into a full-body shiver despite the roaring fire at his feet. The flickering flames and blue evening light gave his skin the strangest pallor.

"Stay put," Arthur said. "I'll be back soon."

When he went to gather the water skins, though, he was astonished to find that each and every one of them was now full.

"Merlin..." he sighed, turning to face him. What he saw made him rush forward in alarm.

Merlin had sagged further and listed slightly to the side. The cloak fell away. What Arthur had earlier taken to be a trick of the evening light was something else entirely--Merlin's skin had become luminescent. He looked like a paper lantern all aglow. What was happening to him?

When Arthur reached his side and stooped to prop him up, he startled. He could see the shadow of his own hand _through_ Merlin's face. Arthur gripped his cheek harder. Still there, still solid--but waxy, and fading from sight with each passing moment.

"Stay with me, Merlin," he commanded. "Stop it."

Now Merlin did smile. "Like I ever listen to you," he said. His voice was reedy and sounded far away. He looked like a man about to slip beneath the ocean's waves.

"Look, it's clear what's happening here," Arthur began. He was cut off by Merlin's snort. "No, it _is_. Your body can't handle your magic right now. You've got to stop using it until we find Archimedes."

Merlin hummed and Arthur felt his body shiver in his arms. "What about after that?" he asked dreamily.

"After that you can use all the magic you want. Morning and night. Play smoke dragons after dinner." Arthur kneaded Merlin's shoulders to ground him to the present.

"They don't like that," Merlin said.

"Who doesn't like that?" Arthur kept at it. He felt Pen tuck into his side, lending her worry and support.

"In Ealdor. The villagers."

"Don't worry about them," Arthur chided. "You won't be in Ealdor."

"Then where...?" Merlin's eyes fluttered and he struggled to fix his gaze on Arthur.

"Camelot, Merlin." Arthur's voice cracked on his name. "You can use all the magic you want once we're home safe in Camelot." And to Arthur's great surprise, he found that every word he'd said was absolutely true.

To this, Merlin had no response. He took a great, hitching inhale and squeezed his eyes shut before leaning forward to rest his head on Arthur's metal hauberk. Tentatively, Arthur reached up with one hand to stroke his dark, matted hair. Merlin smelled rank but Arthur breathed him in, latching on to anything that told him Merlin was still real. That he was going to stay.

"Promise," he whispered. He heaved a sigh of relief when Merlin's glow began to fade and the firelight dominated their camp once more.

* * *

The next night found them equally lost but hungrier, more tired, and in Arthur's case, simmering with anger. He hadn't slept the night before; he'd startled constantly at forest noises and Merlin's intermittent moans. Then it had taken them half the morning to find a game trail to follow, and that had led only into a labyrinth of pathways, which, as far as Arthur could tell, simply led back around to the place they'd started. Not to mention the forest had been devoid of game--and the one skinny rabbit they _had_ seen managed to escape his shot. It was almost as if the forest were deliberately confounding them. Arthur regretted the dead boars he'd left untouched from superstition. Pen's growl rumbled as Arthur yanked off his gloves to start a fire.

To top it off, as the day progressed Merlin had gotten worse and worse. Instead of simple silence, he bit back his distress until he could not contain it and a bark of pain burst from his body. It hurt Arthur to see him struggle and it infuriated him each time Merlin lost his battle. Time was running out. Damn this place--they _would_ find the damned lake and they _would_ find his damned bird.

Merlin offered, once, to find the way with magic, but after Arthur's vehement refusal he did not broach the topic again.

Arthur was piling the kindling just so when Merlin's suppressed groan whined at the edges of his hearing. He clenched the sticks in his fist. "For god's sake, Merlin, just let it out," he spat.

Instead, Merlin coiled tighter and tighter upon himself, burying his face against his knees and releasing a high keen that Arthur doubted he was even aware of. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and startled himself by snapping the kindling in two. A splinter caught the side of his palm and he cursed at the sharp pinch, turning away and throwing his hands in the air. If something didn't start going well _very_ soon he was going to _kill something_ or--

A strange frisson arced across his chest, stopping him in his tracks. He drew a rattling breath and his eyes flew open as the tingling increased, spreading to each arm and sinking down into his belly. He felt as though something had reached deep inside him and the shock sparked revulsion at first, but that was soon overwhelmed by a desire to never, ever let go. With a drawn-out shudder, he realized what was happening before he even turned to see.

No one ever discussed the taboo. There was no need. No one ever touched another's daemon, for doing so was akin to touching the most private and intimate part of the self. Children in the nursery avoided one another's daemons on instinct, reaching only for their own souls during rough and tumble play. Even during battle, human touching daemon was a filthy violation of honorable combat, the last resort of the cowardly and the desperate.

Pen had been grabbed by a bandit once when they were fifteen. Arthur had run the man through and then proceeded to vomit over and over again into a nearby bush. Afterwards, Pen had cowered by his side for nearly a week before regaining her usual aloofness.

_This_ sensation was a world apart. This felt like connection. Like giving. Like the emotions Arthur never dared try putting into words--like secrets Arthur was only just discovering himself.

Penstemmon stood at Merlin's side, nuzzling her elegant nose against his cold cheek. Her great eyes were closed and her soft whuffing exhalations encouraged Merlin to slow down and breathe deep. Merlin leaned hesitantly into her touch. His face was still creased with pain but the hand he'd tangled in her ruff held fast like a lifeline. Arthur's world narrowed to their two figures as they toed a crossroads that promised to lead to something terrifying and new.

"Pen..." he whispered, his heart kicking against his ribs.

"Yes, Arthur," she said solemnly. Then she pushed forward to rub Merlin's body with her own until Merlin grasped her about her middle and pressed his face into her fur. Small sobs shook his frame but they spoke now of relief and release rather than horrifying pain.

Arthur felt as though he'd been standing too near to the ringing of a great iron bell. His ears seemed stuffed with wool and his thoughts were overwhelmed by a resounding, clarion call. It drove him to his knees at Merlin's side, wrapping his arms around both Merlin and Pen and breathing and breathing until he couldn't tell where one stopped at the other began.

They stayed like that in the waning light of day until Merlin's shaking stilled and he drew back slightly to wipe at his eyes. They had lived a moment out of time and were reluctant to return, but awareness crept in like the leaves skittering around them in a breathy, dying wind.

It was Arthur who broke the silence first. "What was..." he ventured muzzily. He held Merlin's nape in one hand and Pen's shoulder in the other.

Merlin looked up with a watery smile, his eyes as bright and clear as they had ever been before. "Two sides of the same coin," he said, chuckling. "The Dragon always said that's what we are."

"What does that mean?" Arthur whispered.

"This, I think," Merlin replied. He squeezed his hand where it wrapped around Arthur's knee and petted Pen's fur.

Arthur smiled back at him. It was a small thing, just barely curving at his lips, but it was perhaps the most honest smile he'd ever given. 

Then he let it fall away. "You lost Archimedes because of me," he blurted. Pen nuzzled his chest. "The Dragon said you're going to die."

"I lost Archimedes because he was caught by Magic's thrall," Merlin said steadily. "What he wanted was wrong."

"But if I--"

"Maybe," Merlin cut him off. His voice was low and clear. "But the Old Religion is vindictive, too. It's my job to protect you from that."

He looked so stoic, so calm. He looked as though he held the key to all the secrets of the universe, and he was ready to share them with Arthur if only he asked the right things.

"Why?" Arthur pressed.

Merlin smiled again. "At first it was because the Dragon told me you were my destiny," he said. "But lately... lately I've chosen to do it because you are also my friend."

And Arthur let go of Pen's silky fur to draw Merlin close for a deep and reverent kiss.


	12. Chapter Five

That night, they slept curled close to one another. Pen sprawled on the ground at their feet. After days of tense exhaustion and little rest, all three passed the night in deep and dreamless sleep.

In the morning Merlin's color had improved significantly. His eyes were once again bright and shrewd, but he remained oddly taciturn as they woke and began preparing for the day. Arthur would turn about and find Merlin's gaze on him, and when Arthur met his eyes he did not look away. Rising concerns were dashed by the intermittent frisson Arthur felt whenever Merlin swiped his hand down Pen's back, and Pen herself projected nothing but calm and comfort. Still, the ground had shifted beneath them last night, and Arthur was not sure where they now stood.

After the horses had been watered, Merlin turned towards Arthur, closed his eyes, and sighed. When he looked up again, two meat pies identical to Cook's usual Thursday offering appeared in each of his hands. Merlin grinned and Arthur's heart soared to see the crinkles appear at the edges of his face.

"Finally, something you're good at," Arthur ribbed as he snatched the pies from Merlin's outstretched hand. Then he hissed and nearly dropped them, catching the piping hot pies in the folds of his shirt. "Ow!" He sucked on the crook of one palm to ease the burn.

"Cook must have just pulled them from the ovens," Merlin said, amused. 

"You called these all the way from Camelot?" Pen asked, astonished.

"Don't encourage him," Arthur sniffed.

Merlin laughed through his mouthful and waved his hand lazily at Arthur. His irises flickered and the heat emanating from Arthur's pies bled away until the pastries were merely warm. Arthur scowled before resolutely lifting one to his mouth and taking an enormous bite.

"Eat up," Merlin laughed. "Never know what you'll have to swing your sword at today."

Arthur rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort when he realized Merlin's laughter was interrupted by little panting breaths. Pausing, he took in the pale cast of Merlin's cheeks and the sweat that once again beaded his forehead.

"Hey," he said unsteadily, shifting and looking to Pen. She came to them in an instant and nuzzled Merlin's chest.

Merlin relaxed into her touch and sighed. "Sorry," he said. "Got a bit carried away."

"It's fine," Arthur said. He reached out tentatively to stroke Merlin's hair.

"I'm alright! Just... eat. There's more in the saddlebags," he admitted, abashed.

"Stop that, Merlin." Arthur was suddenly serious. "This thing with Pen... it's... you're still weak, and we don't know what's going on. Save your strength." He snapped his mouth shut, fearful of what else might come out.

Pen purred. "And if you steal any more Cook will blame some poor page," she admonished.

Arthur snorted and rubbed her ear gratefully. He leaned close before rising to get the provisions. Merlin gripped Pen's shoulder and sighed.

* * *

After a great deal of grumbling and nonverbal posturing, Arthur reluctantly allowed Merlin to find the way to the lake with magic. Their time was nearly up and they were convinced the wood was not entirely natural. Merlin grasped Pen's nape and poured a stream of water onto the ground. Rather than soaking the earth, though, the water beaded and began slipping and rolling over the dirt and leaves.

"Water will find water," Merlin explained cryptically. "Everything rolls downhill."

They mounted swiftly and followed the trickling pathfinder from clearing to clearing, each patch of wood appearing identical to those they'd passed before. Animal life remained scarce and the silence that stretched on hour after hour began to wear on Arthur's nerves. He opened his mouth several times to question Merlin's direction, but each time he closed it again and rode on.

Midday approached. Merlin sat tall in the saddle before Arthur, but Arthur was concerned by Merlin's silence and hidden face. Arthur opened his mouth again, this time to suggest a pause to rest, when he blinked and suddenly found his horse had stepped out onto the edge of a great gray lake. Their pathfinder slithered over the gritty beach and joined the water.

"Do you see him?" Merlin called from his right. He circled his horse and peered around anxiously.

Arthur reoriented himself quickly. Though the lake was large, he could see the other side easily. Leafy trees ringed the shore but appeared as devoid of animal life as ever. "We should walk the perimeter," he called back. "I'm sure he's here somewhere."

Pen approached the lake. She lowered her head cautiously and sniffed its surface. Tiny ripples broke on the shore, though no wind seemed to stir them. Their crests glinted silver. Arthur watched, puzzled, as Pen extended one forepaw and plunged it deliberately into the water.

"Pen!" he called, seized by sudden trepidation. He nearly fell off his horse in his scramble to dismount and get to her side.

The ripples stopped. Everything stopped. Then the lake began to bubble, and an arm burst through the surface clutching a sword. The arm was green. Delicate, scaly patterns swirled down its length and ended in slender fingers capped with long, pointed nails. It was followed by a head of dark, weedy hair and a womanly figure wrapped in a glittering shift. She rose to float just above the lake and remained motionless as rivulets of water dripped from her frame.

Then she opened her eyes. They were black, with yellow pupils. She smiled, and Arthur flinched when he saw her fangs.

"Arthur Pendragon," she intoned. Her voice was musical, pleasant--much at odds with her wild and menacing appearance. She lowered her arm and brought the sword around, turning it to dangle by the hilt. "You've come to try your destiny at last."

This, Arthur supposed, was the Lady of the Lake. He almost chuckled to recall Bors's enthusiasm to meet her.

"My lady," he said, bowing, as Pen did the same. "We are on a quest," he began.

"Naturally."

"We are searching for a lost daemon--Archimedes, Merlin's owl." Arthur gestured to Merlin, still mounted behind him.

"To win Excalibur, you must pass three tests," she said, moving towards the shore. She walked through the air as though stepping on firm ground and stopped at the edge of the grass. "You must prove your worth to become its Guardian."

"I'm not here for that," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I don't care about the sword. We just need Archimedes and we can be on our way."

"I wasn't asking what you wanted," she replied. "I am merely explaining your situation. Succeed, and you win the sword. Fail, or forfeit, and you die. Those are the conditions."

Arthur jerked back in shock. "Excuse me," he said haughtily. "I've entered no bargain with you."

"You defeated the first gatekeepers," she said. At his blank look, she explained. "The enchanted knights in the Perilous Lands. They handle most of those foolish enough to seek the lake." Her fang-toothed smile returned. "And then you summoned me."

A hand gripped Arthur's elbow just as he opened his mouth to argue back. Merlin. "Don't cross her," he hissed in his ear. "Magical contracts are difficult. I think we need to play along for the moment."

"So, what, I have to agree to these tests?" Arthur whispered back. He kept his eyes fixed on the Lady.

"She might be one of the fey. Or maybe a nymph? I haven't finished Gaius's bestiary. Anyway, if she is, she can't lie to you directly. But she _can_ trick you into giving up your mortal soul," Merlin said. "So we should probably be careful."

Arthur breathed in slowly through his nose. "Thanks, _Mer_ lin, that's very helpful," he said, gritting his teeth. "What does that mean we should do?"

"Win the sword?" Merlin ventured. "She did say it was your destiny."

"Yes, and I do so well with those," Arthur retorted. "We need to go find Archimedes!"

"The first test begins now," the Lady went on, heedless of their deliberations. "If you are to be the master of the sword, you must know it, and it must know you. Here before you are three identical blades." She waved a willowy arm and the sword disappeared from her grip before three appeared suspended in the air before her. "Choose Excalibur from the false swords and you will pass the first test."

Arthur furrowed his brow, glancing first at Merlin and then at Pen. The swords were indeed identical in every way. A black-wrapped hilt crossed with gold threads ended at a filigreed cross bar. The blade that descended from the grip was polished to a brilliant shine. Runes in gold decorated the center channel and each edge tapered into a sharp nothingness at the tip.

"Pen?" he breathed, keeping his eyes forward.

"Perhaps if you touch them?" she ventured.

"No," Merlin said. "The one you touch will be your choice."

"And how do you know that?" Arthur asked, turning around to glare.

"Just look." Merlin wound his fingers into Pen's fur and took a deep breath.

"No, wait--"

The world rippled suddenly, all over gold. Dust like the motes Arthur had glimpsed in Darius's looking glass shimmered in the air around them, drifting here and there with lazy, random movements. The sight took Arthur's breath away. Merlin before him was nearly blinding in his brilliance. The gold in Pen's fur stood out like a thousand shining stars.

"Merlin, stop!"

"Look at the swords," he said, unmoved.

"Merlin--" Arthur clamped his jaw shut as he swung back to face the test. Merlin had made it almost comically easy: the first one on the left was surrounded by a rich, thick cloud of Dust, while the other two retreated nearly into the background. The Lady stood placidly behind them.

"All right," Arthur snapped. He yanked Merlin's hand away from Pen and blinked as the golden lights abruptly went out. Scowling, he marched over to the Lady and closed his hand around the hilt of the true sword, pulling up as though drawing it from an invisible sheath.

Nothing happened. Arthur reflexively drew the sword into a defensive position and watched the Lady warily.

"You have chosen well," she said, nodding, not acknowledging Merlin's actions in the slightest. "That is Excalibur indeed. Now that you have found the blade, your second test is to prove you are able to wield it."

Arthur adjusted his grip and took a moment to check on Merlin and Pen behind him. Merlin looked drawn and pale, even with their connection.

A whooshing sound drew his attention to the left. "You are not to interfere, Merlin," he threatened.

A dark shape descended from the trees. It resolved into a huge black cat, larger than Pen, with slitted yellow eyes and batlike wings. It snarled and leapt forward without hesitation. Arthur gathered his defense.

"Stay with him," he shouted to Pen as he feinted and spun away. The creature's inky tail whipped past his face and Arthur thought with a pang of Morgana's Brecanyth, who used to wrestle with Pen while he dueled Morgana with swords.

Arthur shook off the memories and turned to square up with the creature as it gathered for another pounce. This time he went on the attack, swinging a powerful backhanded slash across its chest. He struck home, but still it lunged towards him, digging its teeth into his arm and holding him in close quarters. Arthur's cry and the creature's yowls mingled in the silent forest as Arthur worked to bring the sword around for another blow.

The creature backed off as Arthur regained his balance and retreated just out of reach. Its own blood oozed from the wound in its chest, but its mouth was stained red with Arthur's. Curiously, Arthur felt only a light throb where the creature's fangs had pierced him; he flexed his hand and looked down to see the punctures already closing over with tiny motes of gold.

"Merlin!" he shouted angrily.

"It's not me!" Merlin protested.

"Do you see anyone else here?" Arthur returned as he danced closer to the creature. It snarled and raised one paw, displaying glittering, deadly claws.

"Maybe it's left over?" Merlin pondered.

"What?"

"From the snake head thing. When I healed you?"

"Argh!" Arthur's cry of frustration was cut off by the creature's hiss as it launched upwards, beating its wings until it reached a great height and made a silhouette against the sky. It was going to dive.

Heart hammering hard, Arthur stood his ground. He dropped to one knee as the creature folded its wings and began to fall, holding the sword with both hands and waiting for the moment to be right. He stared down its outstretched claws and dagger-like teeth as it drew closer and closer and then--

He uncoiled to meet the dive, thrusting his sword up through the creature's chest with all the force he could muster. Its body slammed into his, bowling them both over. Arthur's sword was stuck, buried nearly to the hilt, and the creature's wails of pain rang in his ears. Rocking, he pushed the creature's body away and twisted until he pulled the sword free and scrabbled back out of harm's reach.

When he turned to face it again, however, the creature was gone. In its place was a young woman. She had dark hair, pale skin, and a red, gaping wound in the center of her body.

Arthur raised his sword, then lowered it. He looked to Merlin, who stared over at the girl with wide, round eyes.

"She changed," he said in awe.

The girl coughed. She lay prone on the grass with her eyes tightly closed. Arthur took a tentative step forward.

"Please," she gasped.

"Be careful," Merlin warned.

It was a trick, of course. A trick to draw him close so the girl's sorcery could finish him off.

"Please finish it," she pleaded, pressing one hand to her wound. Thick blood flowed between her fingers. "Release me."

"Release you?" Arthur asked warily.

"The curse." She coughed again. "Oh..." She curled up, hugging her knees and hiking the tattered hem of her drab, stained dress up her shins.

"Arthur," Merlin started, stepping closer. His voice had a thoughtful note.

This was a test, Arthur remembered. Or perhaps a trick. He thought back to his ordeal with the unicorn. All might not be as it seemed. "No magic," he warned. He circled until he reached Merlin's side, knowing he couldn't keep him back any longer if he tried. He refrained from grabbing Merlin's arm.

Merlin approached the girl with Pen trailing behind. He knelt down beside her, just out of arm's reach. Bloody spittle had begun to gather at the corners of the girl's mouth.

"Hello," Merlin said gently. He folded his hands in his lap. "You said there's a curse? Do you need help?"

Weakly, she nodded. "Bastet," she managed.

"What did she say?" Arthur asked.

"Bastet--it's a creature. A curse!" Merlin's brow furrowed. "I read about it in the bestiary."

"What does that _mean_ , Merlin?" Arthur asked. "What should I _do_?" He was still on a hair trigger, energy pumping through his limbs, and he wanted this strange, drawn-out interlude to conclude as quickly as possible. Magic or not, to see a woman so gravely injured... to have caused the injury himself...

"What's your name?" Merlin asked. He spoke slowly, as though they had all the time in the world.

"Freya," she replied.

"Hi Freya, I'm Merlin." He smiled.

"Please--" she called, agonized. She rolled towards him, one arm outstretched, and when she opened her eyes Arthur saw they were rimmed with gold.

"No!" he shouted, leaping forward with his sword held high above his head.

"Wait!" Merlin cried, but it was too late--Arthur's momentum drove the blade home, pinning Freya to the grass and snuffing out her life like a candle.

Merlin had eyes only for her. "What have you done?" he whispered, falling on her body and cupping her face in his hands. Pen stepped forward and lowered her head next to his.

"I saved your life," Arthur said, his tone brittle. "She was about to attack you."

"A bastet is only dangerous when it's transformed," Merlin countered hotly. Tears choked his voice. "The person can't control it; they lose their conscious mind. That's why it's a curse. She needed our _help_ , Arthur!"

"And I'm sure you had, what, the counter curse, all ready to go?" Arthur shot back. "Her eyes were glowing, Merlin! If she'd transformed you'd be dead!"

"But she--"

"And so the second test is complete." The Lady's voice broke through their argument. "You have shown bravery, skill, and mercy. Though it might be argued you made a correct choice for entirely incorrect reasons," she mused.

"You!" Merlin shouted, rounding on the Lady. Dirt and Freya's blood streaked his hands. "What _mercy_? What kind of sick test requires killing an innocent woman?"

The Lady's face was grave. "Think back on your bestiary, Emrys," she said, addressing him directly for the first time. "What cure exists for the bastet's curse?"

Merlin sniffed, frowned, and smeared his hands on his knees. "There is none," he said reluctantly. "At least, none the author knew."

"Except?"

"Except release. In... death. And rites for the soul, for it to find its daemon again." His voice stayed steady. "But I'm different. I'm _more_ ," he argued. "If know know I'm Emrys then you know that. I could have found a way."

"If you were whole, perhaps," the Lady allowed. Merlin wilted and Arthur clenched his jaw. "Freya lived with this curse for many years," she went on. "I found her wandering far from home, afraid. Afraid she would kill others as she killed her family, the first time she was transformed." She paused to let them fill in the gaps. "I gave her purpose here. She acted as a guardian against the unworthy. Her reward for her service was death."

"But that's--" Merlin started.

"Horrible," Pen whispered.

"Yes," the Lady agreed. "But what of her reward, Emrys?"

"What about it?"

"She has her death; her soul still needs its rites."

Merlin sighed and rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. "Fine," he bit out. Resolutely avoiding so much as a glance at Arthur, Pen, or the Lady, Merlin turned again and knelt to gather Freya in his arms. Her slim body was light even in Merlin's tired grip. Her head lolled against the crook of his elbow and her hair swung in matted ringlets as Merlin stood.

Arthur looked on helplessly as Merlin waded into the lake. Merlin stopped when the water reached his waist and slid Freya gently forward. She floated there, supported by his hands, and her head rocked back and forth in the waves.

Then Merlin began to speak. A deep, guttural voice unlike any Arthur had heard emanated from his chest and roared through the clearing. A warm glow suffused his body and bled into Freya's limp form, where it grew brighter and brighter until it coalesced into a shining orb as brilliant as a sun. With one final shout, the orb rose up and flashed out, dazzling their eyes before disappearing entirely. Blinking, Arthur looked down at Merlin again. His arms were now empty. Freya's body was gone.

Merlin walked out of the lake, as clean and dry as he'd been before the whole ordeal had begun. Red blotches stained his cheeks and tears streamed down his face. Then he staggered, and Arthur ran to catch him as he stumbled and fell.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. He felt lost and weary beyond imagining. It was no matter that he'd done the so-called right thing--all of this was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"It's... it is what it had to be," Merlin replied reluctantly. He reached out for Pen, who'd run to his side. Arthur helped him sit sit up and placed his palm flat on Merlin's back. "There is so much good in magic, Arthur. I wish you had time to see. I wish I had time to show you. It's so much more than this."

"You'll show me when we get home," Arthur said. "I promised, remember?"

Merlin cracked a weak smile. His mournful eyes stopped Arthur cold.

"Arthur--" he began.

"The third test awaits," the Lady interrupted. "This is a test of sacrifice. You have found the sword and you wield it well. In order to keep it, however, you must give up something of equal value."

Arthur twisted his head to find the bloody sword lying still in the grass. He recoiled at the sight. "Are you mad?" he shouted. "I don't even want it! I told you!"

"You know the terms," the Lady reminded him. "To forfeit means death."

"Well, I can't exactly nip over to the vaults," Arthur retorted. "If you wanted money you really should have rethought the idea of holding this contest in the middle of the woods."

"Do you think I have need of gold?" the Lady sneered. "The sacrifice is not for my benefit. It is for the balance."

"Arthur--" Merlin tried again.

"Then what _do_ you want?" Arthur cut him off. "Our horses?"

"If that is what you choose."

"Arthur!" Merlin grasped his shoulder and shook. "We have to decide! That's the test."

"What?" Arthur snapped back.

"You have to weigh the value of the sword and offer something equal in return. Not money. Something more... intrinsic." Merlin's eyes looked somehow more haunted.

"Well, I hope you have some good ideas because I'm just about fed up with all this nonsense." Arthur shifted, pulling Merlin closer and letting him lean against his side to rest.

"I do, actually," Merlin said quietly. He looked away.

Arthur did not like his tone. "If you suggest what I think you're about to say--"

"I'm dying," Merlin said bluntly. He brought one hand up to Arthur's chest. "Archimedes isn't here. This body can't hold on much longer."

Pen growled. "No--"

Merlin wove his fingers through her fur and looked down at her sadly. "I have the power," he said. "Enough to keep the balance."

"No," Arthur said forcefully. "It's using all this magic that's made you worse and worse. Stop it! Just stop!" He gripped Merlin tightly, holding him hard enough to bruise.

"I don't use magic, Arthur. I _am_ magic. This body can't hold onto me much longer," Merlin explained. "You have to let me do this."

"No! It's a trick! You said she'd trick us into giving up our souls!"

"A sacrifice must be willingly given," the Lady interjected.

"Never," Arthur snarled, twisting his body to block Merlin's.

"Then hopefully my willingness is enough."

Arthur found, suddenly, that he could no longer move. Merlin extricated himself from his arms and kneeled trembling before him.

"You will be a great king," he said solemnly. "It has been my honor to serve you. And also..." he paused, uncertain for one fragile moment. "And also to love you," he finished, leaning forward to press a kiss to Arthur's stubbled cheek.

Arthur could not respond: couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't blink. He could only watch as Merlin stood and turned his back to face the Lady and the lake.

"Pen?" he called out. "Will you help me?"

Arthur never hated her more than the moment she walked resolutely to Merlin's side. It didn't matter that her head was down, or that her keening pierced his heart. It didn't matter that she didn't have a choice--her love for Merlin was boundless but it could not outweigh her first and truest bond. She would do whatever it took to protect Arthur. He felt her regret and despair vibrating in his bones but still he thought he might never speak to her again.

Merlin reached down and stroked her head. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he straightened up. "As sacrifice for the power of the sword, I give you equal power, in the manner of my choosing."

The Lady nodded, and so Merlin began. He knelt down on the ground and placed his hands flat. A moment passed in silence, then came a rumbling, and the ground shook until a dark mass of rock reared up on the shore of the lake. Melin sat back and raised his hands to set its surface twisting and grinding until a human figure emerged from the rough stone. Freya. Her likeness sat upon a perch, gazing down at the water, frozen in the act of combing out her hair.

Merlin paused, panting, and laid his hands on Pen. She nuzzled his side and waited for him to continue.

"The lake still needs a guardian," Merlin called out. "She will shelter the weary and provide for those in need."

Standing, he staggered over to the statue and embraced her waist on his knees. He sighed, and power poured from his body until simple stone was transformed. A fabric of moss and pink blossoms covered her dress and rivulets of water streamed through her curls; they coalesced in a silvery waterfall that sparkled and burbled in this otherwise silent place. Her skin lightened to a pearly sheen that would act as a beacon through the trees... and still Merlin was not done.

With another sigh, he turned and faced Arthur. He bent to stroke Pen's head one final time. Then he stood, tall and proud, and Arthur realized he could see through his hands. His lantern-glow was back again. Merlin smiled as he rooted his feet and gestured: he seemed to sink into the ground. He became somewhat more solid, but--no, it wasn't _him_ any longer. It was bark: the trunk of a tree.

The woody growth crackled and swirled up his legs and climbed his torso. At last, Merlin raised his arms and turned his face to the sky, and then they, too, were transformed into a network of branches that formed a beautiful spreading crown. It bore both flowers and fruit: golden petals and round red produce unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. A pulse of power radiated from its trunk and filled the clearing with a sweet, peaceful vibration that faded away like the tone of a bell.

Then he was gone, and the tree with its flowery perfume remained.

Arthur pitched forward with a shout as Merlin's binding spell faded away.

"It is well done," the Lady said solemnly. "The sword is yours, Arthur Pendragon. You are its Guardian. Use it wisely." Then, without a sound or a flash or even the slightest breeze, she, too, disappeared.

Penstemmon cowered by the shore. She stared down at the ground and released little panting sobs that only served to fuel Arthur's rage.

He pushed himself up from his knees. "How could you?" he growled. He lurched to his feet and turned his back on her, then began to walk. He wondered where the horses had gone. Scared away by Freya, no doubt.

It was a pointless exercise and both of them knew it. Arthur soon reached the boundary of their bond. He stopped and pushed no further. The horses were nowhere to be seen.

"How could you?" Arthur called again. Whether the question was directed at Pen or Merlin, he did not know.

"Because I had no choice," Pen called back, her voice breaking. "A heart cannot choose to stop beating."

"I would have given my life for his a hundred times--"

"And he would have stopped you, every one," Pen interrupted. "Because you are his king."

" _Why?_ " Arthur rounded on her. Anguished confusion choked his voice. "What have I ever done to deserve it? His loyalty?" He sagged. "I've ridiculed him... I _tore his daemon away_. How could he ever l-love me like that?" His tears flowed freely now, hot and wet, and mucous dripped messily from the end of his nose. He wiped his face angrily on a sleeve.

"I don't know," Pen said solemnly. "But if you love him, you have to trust that he did."

Guilt and grief made Arthur fold down to the ground. He buried his head in his hands and heaved great sobs until nausea rose in his throat.

Then he felt a light hush of breath on the back of one hand. Pen. She'd come near. "I'm sorry," she said plainly.

"I know," Arthur admitted. He couldn't loathe her, in the end.

They stayed like that, near but not touching, until Arthur quieted. Merlin's trickling waterfall became audible once more. Arthur forced a deep, steadying breath before straightening to turn and look at it.

To his astonishment, their missing mounts were drinking calmly from the lake near the monument. Their tack and saddlebags appeared undamaged. Arthur's mare flicked her tail lazily and picked up her head to glance at Arthur before leaning down to drink again.

Merlin had not simply created a pretty sculpture and an unusual tree. What had he said? He had made a place of refuge. An oasis for weary travelers. The magic he had bled into this shoreline had brought their horses back.

Arthur shivered. Pen stared at the horses with keen eyes and the horses continued to drink, unperturbed.

"We have to help his soul," Arthur said suddenly. "Like he did for that girl."

"Freya," Pen agreed. "How?"

"I--I don't know. If we... take something, and put it in the lake..." Arthur began.

"Something from the tree," Pen agreed.

Arthur nodded and they walked together towards the water. The monument, when they reached it, was beautiful and quiet and sad. They approached the tree. It was like no other Arthur had seen before: rough patterned bark and a delicate branching crown; tiny, almond-shaped leaves and plump, four-petaled flowers. Its ripe fruit hung on the same branches and Arthur guessed the flowers would never fall, nor would the fruit ever rot.

He couldn't forget that the crook in the trunk was the same height as Merlin's knee.

Carefully, he reached up to pluck a flower. It came away easily in his hand, smooth and weighty. He released it into the lake where it bobbed and spun in the waterfall's eddies before being carried away.

Overhead, wing beats broke the stillness and a great shadow blocked out the sun.


	13. PART THREE: Chapter One

The squeak and jangle of tack, the soft sucking of hooves on wet earth--these were the only sounds that accompanied Arthur's party as they plodded west towards Ealdor. They had crossed into Cenred's kingdom early that morning and had already made inroads on the fields surrounding Merlin's tiny home town. Farmers paused their planting and weeding as the riders swept into view, sun glinting on Arthur's and Leon's mail. Gwen rode between them, sitting astride her mount in breeches and cradling her Viro in one arm.

When the farmers realized there was no fourth rider--no gangly boy in homespun cloth, no mop of messy black hair--they all gasped, one by one, in little outbursts that sliced Arthur's heart with a thousand tiny cuts. As they neared the village itself, one woman dropped her tools and lifted her skirts to sprint towards a hut Arthur remembered all too well. He pulled on his reins, slowing his mount, unsure how to proceed.

"Arthur," Gwen said gently behind him, "Why don't we walk from here?"

Gwen had been in the courtyard the morning Arthur had arrived back in Camelot. He'd been surrounded by triumphant knights, jubilant at having found their prince after searching the woods for days. When Leon had turned up and reported that Arthur missed their rendezvous, the king himself had made to go on the search. Gaius had restrained him only at the last moment. Now the court was relieved: after days of low, thrumming panic, finally their prince was home.

Gwen had run up to Arthur with a smile rounding her cheeks and a shopping basket dangling from her elbow. One look at Arthur's grim mouth chased all her joy away.

"Where is Merlin?" was all she said.

Silence was his only answer. He couldn't even meet her gaze. Her gasp was met by Viro's bubble of distress and he hopped jerkily to Pen's side.

"It's not true?" Viro whispered, his ears pressed down against his back.

Pen, too, looked away, cowed by the cowering rabbit crouched at her feet.

Then Uther had appeared, sweeping down the castle steps with his arms outstretched and a broad smile, Saja trotting gaily before him.

Later, Uther had dismissed Arthur's plea for Merlin to have the honor of a knight's funeral. He'd maligned Arthur's attachment and said he had too soft a heart. His joy at Arthur's return had been tempered by Arthur's assertion that the quest had been a failure--Arthur had spun a tale about pressing on with the journey and finding Darius's lake, only without any guardian and without any sword. Bandits, he'd said, had ambushed them on their way home, and Merlin had taken an arrow meant for Arthur's heart.

The story didn't make a lick of sense but Uther evidently didn't care. He retreated again, brooding, and threw Darius out on his ear without so much as a coin of thanks.

Leon had been in the chamber during Arthur's report to the king. Arthur allowed himself only the briefest of steely, sorrowful glances, hoping his knight would understand what his fabricated stories were really trying to say. (He thanked all the deities he could imagine that Gaius had been dispatched for a few days to attend to one of Uther's mendicant nobles.)

When Arthur had returned to his chambers, he'd found Gwen waiting there, fluttering around some hastily arranged flowers. _Flowers_. The sight of them, so delicate and foreign upon his dark, heavy table, made his breath catch in his throat. Spring flowers, of all things. For mourning.

"What happened, Arthur?" Gwen pressed.

So Arthur told her. He told her about Merlin's magic and about his bravery. He told her about the way Merlin had saved his life again and again and the way he'd hidden all his deeds. He told her how Merlin had masked Archimedes and how he had saved Camelot from the dragon. Gwen drank it all in, stunned into silence by the torrent of Arthur's words.

He stopped short, though, of telling her all that he had done. He couldn't explain their lost destiny, or Archimedes's rendering, or his final desperate failure with the Lady of the Lake. Instead, he repeated part of the lie he'd told his father. He told her he blamed himself for Merlin's death.

Gwen's eyes brimmed with tears. Viro moved to comfort Pen, but Pen whirled away to leap upon the bed, out of Viro's reach. She lay down, facing away. Gwen furrowed her brow, flicking her eyes in disapproval before reaching out to deliberately take Arthur's hand.

"He was my friend, too," she said firmly. "I sometimes wondered... well. Everything you said, it's amazing. But all I can think is he must have been so _lonely_. With everything he did for us..." She squeezed his hand again. "Merlin was your man, Arthur. He told me once he wished you'd stop being a fathead long enough to realize that you needed people, and that you were better for it. Merlin might be... gone," and here her voice faltered, "But he'd be right ticked off if you went and used that as an excuse to push away your other friends." She sniffed and punctuated her speech with a shaky laugh.

Arthur's heart had broken all over again at the thought that she believed he might deserve something like friendship. He was nothing but a coward and a fool, and a liar, now, to boot.

Gwen, though--Gwen was as good a person as he had ever known. This, despite the fact that his father had executed hers, and he'd done nothing to stop that, or to stop his father from driving Morgana away. This, despite the fact that he'd caused her last close friend to be killed. If, after everything, she wanted friendship from _Arthur_ , then it was nigh on his duty to honor it.

That was why she now walked with him and Leon down the narrow path that led to Merlin's mother's door.

Hunith appeared in the entryway with her hands bunched in her flour-dusted apron. "Prince Arthur," she called with a false lightness and a careful bow of her head. "What brings you here to Ealdor?"

She stood straight again and proud, and her ginger cat daemon paced at her side with every inch the bearing of a royal like Pen. Hunith was no fool. Arthur had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, about Merlin, about Balinor, about why she'd chosen to send her son into the arms of a kingdom that would kill him simply for existing. What future had she hoped for? What exactly did she know?

Instead he approached her solemnly and knelt in penance at her feet. When he extended one arm to take her hand, she allowed the gesture warily and exhaled a shuddering breath.

"Mother Hunith..." Arthur began. After all this time, after days of travel, he found he had no idea what to say. The words had been robbed from his throat. "Merlin... your son..."

"Is he dead?" Hunith whispered, gripping Arthur's fingers like a vice.

Arthur nodded mutely. Hunith dropped his hand and sagged against the doorframe, her face contorting into a grimace. Her daemon's yowl broke the awful silence and spurred Gwen to rush forward and catch Hunith's body, allowing her to crumple in her arms.

* * *

He promised her a widow's pension drawn straight from his own accounts, to be delivered to her each spring and harvest. He offered her a place in Camelot if ever she wanted it. It was his family's fault, after all, that she no longer had a husband or a son.

It turned out, though, that all she wanted was stories. Merlin's correspondence had been sporadic at best and she knew he edited himself because he didn't want her to worry. When she learned that Arthur had known about Merlin's magic, her tears began anew.

"I knew you had a good heart," she told him softly, lifting one hand to touch his cheek. They sat across from one another at her rough-hewn table and her daemon lay curled in her lap where Arthur couldn't see.

Gwen moved in the background, helping finish that day's chores and watching dinner cook on the fire. They'd brought meats and cheeses and a large flagon of wine after her pointed reminder that Hunith likely wouldn't have much she could spare. Leon had excused himself earlier to go see to some issue with the woodpile that he might or might not have invented.

Arthur swallowed. "I don't," he blurted. "When I found out, I said... I did a terrible thing," he confessed.

Hunith's hand stilled, but she did not pull it away. Her wide, round eyes, puffy but endlessly open, prodded him to go on.

"He saved my life with his magic," Arthur began. "And afterwards, I felt... hurt, I think, that he'd kept such a big secret. I didn't understand at the time. Not that I was worthy of his trust." Arthur leaned back and began fiddling with his ring, looking down at the earthen floor. The ring's slick surface reminded him how different his life was from Hunith's, and how little he deserved the hospitality at her table. "I tried to send him away. He got--he was... injured. I came back and found him gravely wounded. And even then he... I tried to save him, but we got into some trouble and he... he gave his life for mine. Even though I'd treated him like--"

He could say no more. Gwen's background puttering had stilled. Pen, lying at Arthur's feet, released a soft moan and hid her head against his leg.

"Why did you send him to Camelot?" Arthur asked brokenly into the silence that followed. "Why didn't you keep him safe here with you?"

"Because that's not who he was," Hunith said tearily. Her daemon climbed into her arms and she held him against her chest. Then, "Don't waste his gift, Arthur Pendragon. I don't want your money. Promise me."

"Anything," Arthur said in earnest.

Hunith smiled, and the lines it pressed into her face were the most sorrowful Arthur had ever seen. "Merlin believed he was given his magic for a purpose," she said. "He went to Gaius to find out why. If this was it, his... destiny"-- Arthur shuddered at the word--"You must promise me you'll honor him. Every day."

"With every breath," Arthur vowed.

Leon chose that moment to slip in through the door, his obvious attempt to be quiet instead calling painful attention to his entrance. Hunith closed her eyes. Arthur and Gwen looked around.

"Er... the woodpile is sorted," Leon offered, unsure how to gauge the volume of his voice inside the little hut. His daemon ran behind his legs. A beat of silence passed.

"You got flowers?" Gwen ventured, gesturing to the blooms he grasped in one hand.

"Oh! Yes," he said, lifting them up. "The lane was all over primroses. I thought... they looked nice," he trailed off, leaving the fisted flowers to hover awkwardly in the air.

"Primroses?" Hunith said, opening her eyes. "By the lane?"

"Yes," Leon replied. He shifted until his arm extended towards her. "Where shall I put them?"

"The lane by the woodpile?" Hunith asked. She stood, allowing her daemon to drop gracefully to the floor. She walked towards Leon and took the flowers from his hand, trembling.

"Yes," Leon agreed, confused. "Do they belong to someone? Should I not have taken them?"

"No," Hunith said. "No, thank you, Sir Leon." She picked up a shallow bowl and motioned for Gwen to fill it with water. Settling the flowers into place, she stared down into them as though they held answers to a thousand mysteries.

"Primroses are my favorite," she said softly. "Will you show me where you found these, Sir Leon?"

"Of course, my lady," he replied, gesturing for her to precede him out the door.

All four of them walked outside and followed Leon around the corner. When Hunith turned to face the lane, her hands flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Leon had not been overstating his description--primroses carpeted the grass around the woodpile and all down Hunith's side of the path. Their soft, cheery yellow faces warmed a space that would otherwise have looked drab and bare. Rare pink blooms blushed in clumps here and there, and every flower was open in the peak of its blossom.

"Oh, they're beautiful," Gwen gushed. Viro hopped forward to nose the nearest bunch. "I don't know how I missed them when we arrived."

"That's because they weren't here then," Hunith said. She walked forward and lowered herself gently to her knees, spreading her arms to rake her hands through the flowers. Her fingers came away wet, though the morning had long since passed.

"My son," she choked. Her daemon trotted up to rub himself against her side before launching himself into the blossoms, rolling in the flowers and the dew. A deep purr rumbled in his throat.

"My son," she repeated, tears flowing freely as she plucked a single blossom and raised it to her lips.

* * *

Arthur and Leon cut two bright figures against a hazy, muddy landscape, sitting astride two great destriers with their daemons trotting tirelessly by their sides. They had left Gwen in Ealdor for a few days. Merlin was pleased. Gwen would make his mother smile. She deserved to smile, after all he'd put her through. She also deserved the pension money Merlin had watched Arthur tuck beneath her bench, though she'd never admit it and would probably give half of it away.

He was glad she'd liked her flowers. (It didn't matter much about the crying--mothers always cried when they were happy, after all.) She had looked so sad, before. They all looked so sad.

Arthur was sad now, he could tell. He wished Arthur liked flowers. He couldn't make anything Arthur liked, though. Arthur or Pen.

But--wait! Pen had liked his illusion, hadn't she? He didn't have any smoke to play with, but there, just ahead, was a mound of last year's fallen leaves...


	14. Chapter Two

"Gaius sent me to ask you to come by his chambers when you are able, my lord."

The towheaded child peeping at Arthur from his doorway spoke his message quickly and then stopped short, waiting on edge as his terrier daemon circled his ankles. He wore an oversized stablehand's livery; Gaius must have tried to catch Arthur there when he'd heard news that Arthur and Leon had returned.

That meant only one thing: grimy as he and Pen were, a bath would have to wait. He wasn't entirely sure who he should call on to draw one up, anyway.

"I'm on my way now," Arthur replied. "You may go."

The child scurried away, remembering to bob his head at the last moment before disappearing down the hall. Arthur sighed and hauled himself out of his seat.

"What are we going to tell him?" Pen asked softly, pausing by the door.

"Everything," Arthur said. "He's the only one we _can_ tell."

"He loved Merlin like a son," Pen protested. "He'll never forgive us. We need his help."

"Which is exactly why he needs to know."

He swept out the door with the greatest conviction he could muster, Pen padding silently at his side.

* * *

Never before had Arthur thought Gaius looked _old_. Distinguished, certainly, and an elder, someone with years and the wisdom of experience--but never old. Now, he appeared shrunken in his seat by the fire, lost in a haze of grief and gazing into the flames. His Avia was hidden somewhere in the folds of his sleeves, and neither made a sound.

Arthur had sat and talked while the shadows grew long around them, pausing only to build up the fire when evening came on. He, too, was silent.

Gaius shifted suddenly, leaning forward and eliciting a sharp creak from his chair. He rubbed his fingers over his face and released a bone-deep sigh.

"If there is one thing I understand in all this world," he began, enunciating each word with care, "it is the weight of a sin for which you can never, ever atone." His eyes stayed fixed on the flames and his mouth collapsed into a line.

Arthur shared a look with Pen, brow slightly furrowed. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.

"What the Great Dragon told you was true," Gaius went on. "It is a story I know well. You may have already guessed that I was once the sorcerer at your father's right hand."

He had not. In fact, he hadn't even spared it a thought--he'd mentioned the detail only by rote, as part of a desperate attempt to name and organize the jumbled mess in his mind.

"When the Purge began, I led the hunt for those who 'misused' magic, as he said, because I hoped that the prosecution of a deserved few might assuage Uther's grief and anger." Gaius couldn't bring himself to look Arthur's way. His words carried the weight of confession. 

"When it continued, so did I," Gaius explained, "reasoning that I could use my position to shield and assist the most vulnerable under Uther's new laws. In the end, however, I was still complicit in many deaths. I caused many families to be torn apart. And though I privately aided many magic users and helped them to escape from Camelot, I never stood up to the king."

A wave of fresh pain contorted Gaius's drooping face. It occurred to Arthur then that what he was hearing was nothing less than a confession of treason, treason of nearly the highest order. He was surprised to realize it only made him respect Gaius more.

He meant to wait for Gaius to go on, but Pen had other ideas. "But--no," she said softly, "you would have been killed, too, if you did." She inched closer to Gaius's seat and laid her head down on her forepaws, her ears hanging low in distress.

"Perhaps we should have been," a sibilant voice broke in. Avia's brown and white body emerged from the end of Gaius's left sleeve. Her forked tongue flicked in and out.

"The situation is complex," Gaius allowed, stroking Avia's head with one finger. "As the years have passed I find I am less and less sure whether the choices I made were strictly good, however understandable they may have been at the time. That was all thrust into quite sharp relief two summers past when I received a letter from my old friend Hunith."

"You helped her escape with Balinor, after the Dragon," Arthur said, putting two and two together.

"Indeed," Gaius nodded. "And she wrote to me to ask advice about how to help her son, a boy born with magic unlike anything she'd ever seen before. I told her to send him here." He paused. Arthur waited, holding his breath. "Merlin was... I cannot begin to tell you, Arthur, what his presence here has meant to me. Teaching him has been a joy unlike any other. Merlin was many, many things, and I loved him as a son, but also, always, I saw in him a second chance."

He lapsed into silence once more. It was full dark now, and the crackling flames before them exaggerated the shadowy corners of the workroom. The weight of years bore down on every dusty jar, on every worn shelf rising against the walls around them. Each stopper bottled a little knowledge and a little penance from a lifetime spent in secret workings to help the people-- _all_ the people--of Camelot. Each shadow cloaked the shame.

"Tell me about the sword," Gaius said abruptly. Avia had disappeared once more.

Arthur smiled grimly. "I brought it back," he said. "I'd rather have thrown it in the lake but I was worried what might happen if someone found it without a guardian. It feels... powerful. Though I'm not sure what it can do."

"Where is it now?"

"In my chambers."

"Fetch it here."

Arthur rose to obey without hesitation. He strode through empty corridors past mute guardsmen with daemons sitting like statues at their feet. He reached his own door in hardly any time at all and slipped silently inside.

Pen leapt up on the bed to watch as Arthur began rooting around in his wardrobe. He'd tossed his traveling things, packs and all, into the back when he'd first arrived in Camelot. A valet had tried to sort them and Arthur had thrown him from the room with a barely-contained snarl. Concealing the sword had been no easy task--he hadn't wanted anyone who saw him arrive to notice that he now had _two_ \--but with judicious wrappings and a particular arrangement of packs, he'd managed.

The dusty leather materialized under his hands and he yanked the lot out into the open. Undoing straps and buckles, he freed the sword and shoved the packs out of the way.

He turned, though, when one of them made an unexpected clanking noise as it hit the stone floor. Shaking his head, he meant to dismiss it before briefly catching Pen's eye and her curious, quizzical stare. Neither of these packs held any armor--what could possibly have caused that sound? 

It would only take a moment to check. Putting the sword to the side, he grabbed the pack nearest to him and pulled it closer.

This pack, the one that had made the noise, was Merlin's. Arthur gritted his teeth and rummaged around inside. Cloth, rope, water skins... his hand stopped when he touched something hard and metallic. He grasped the edge and lifted it out to see.

A shallow dish with designs circling a flat lip rested in his palm. A flash of memory--a loose shirt yanked from Merlin's arms in the dark, the feeling of a rigid object that disappeared from his hands when he unfolded the cloth to look...

Arthur bundled the dish under his arm and took up the sword with the other as he stood to leave.

When he arrived back in the workroom, a solemn Gaius walked up to him and reached out wordlessly for the bundle Arthur carried in his arms. A sudden whirl of fear and anger shot through Arthur's veins and he stiffened, stepping back, while Pen released a warning growl. Arthur's heart thundered in his ears. Gaius raised one eyebrow in confusion.

As quickly as it arose, though, the feeling disappeared, leaving Arthur bewildered and embarrassed by his reaction. "Sorry," he said, shifting his bundle and drawing it closer against his chest.

"It's all right," Gaius said appraisingly, drawing himself into the poised figure of old. "Best you keep hold of it. Why don't you unwrap it over here?" He walked briskly to the worktable and cleared away stacks of parchment and herds of bottles with a sharp efficiency, creating hardly any rustle or clink.

Arthur followed and placed the sword gingerly on the wooden surface. Instead of revealing it, however, he began to free the dish from Merlin's bag and held it up to Gaius's face. 

"Before we get to that, I found _this_ in Merlin's pack. Do you know what it is?" Arthur asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

Gaius's mask did not slip but Arthur imagined he could see a flash of some emotion pass over his eyes. "It's a magical artifact, sire. I thought it might be... useful... on your journey."

"What does it do?"

"Nothing, anymore," Gaius said cryptically. "It is called an alethiometer. It is meant to tell the reader the truth of things. The knowledge of reading it was lost many years ago."

Though puzzled, Arthur did not press him further. Gaius seemed to think the point was moot. Instead, he turned his attention to the sword, unwinding layers of tunic and cloak to reveal brightly polished metal reflecting firelight across the room. When it finally lay free upon the table, Arthur let out his breath.

Gaius peered down at the sword but was careful to avoid any movement to touch. His long, grey hair shrouded his expression from Arthur's view. Moments passed. 

"Hm," he said at last. He walked around the table to view the sword from another angle. "Would you mind turning it over, sire?"

Arthur obliged, fighting a sickening reluctance to grasp the hilt and an even stronger hesitation when it was time for him to let go.

"'Cast me away,'" Gaius murmured, straightening once more. "Look at these marks on the blade. They appear to be runes. Those on the first side say, 'Take me up,' and those on the reverse read, 'Cast me away.' Interesting..." He trailed off and began massaging his chin with one hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Arthur asked sharply. Pen batted at his shin from under the table.

"I can't say," Gaius replied, paying no mind to Arthur's tone. "I've never seen its like."

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Arthur pressed.

"Keep it, I should think," Gaius said. He raised his hand to forestall Arthur's retort. "I mean I believe you should keep it with you, always. I'm unsure what the... intentions... of this sword may be, but I am quite certain it should not fall into any other hands." Arthur twitched towards the blade. "It seems as though your subconscious agrees with me."

Arthur grimaced. "How do I know it's not... warping me? Twisting my mind?" he asked, suddenly paranoid.

"That is always a reasonable concern," Gaius allowed. "But on the whole, I do not feel any evil in it. You said the Lady named you its guardian; I imagine the pull you feel stems from that title."

"Well, we don't want it," came Pen's curt voice from beneath the table. Arthur looked down, surprised to see her almost cowering in the shadow, her face turned away from the light.

Gaius did not respond to her, instead turning towards Arthur and looking him square in the eye. "Like it or not, it's your burden now." A ghost of their earlier conversation flashed across his face.

"I can't have it with me _always_ ," Arthur protested feebly.

Gaius gave him a long, hard look. Rustling fabric heralded the arrival of Avia's head emerging from his collar, fixing her own black eyes on Arthur's face.

"There is a way," Gaius said evenly. He said no more.

 _Magic_ , he must mean. Of course. Magic to make the sword invisible, perhaps, or to make it resemble a more ordinary blade. Because _it_ wasn't ordinary either; it was magic too. A magic spell for his magic sword. Him, Arthur, the Crown Prince of Camelot.

The choice was easy in the end. He nodded his assent.

"Up in... the back room," Gaius said, faltering only slightly, "you'll find a book beneath a loose floorboard. Bring it here."

Arthur almost laughed. Of course Merlin kept his magic book in the most comical of hiding places. What else would he find in there, he wondered--magical trinkets under his bed?

He sobered as he pushed the door open. For once, Pen had not followed; she remained out of sight. Arthur entered entirely alone. The air was cool after the stuffiness of the fire and little light filtered into the room. Arthur squinted--he'd had little occasion to visit this room before, and he wasn't entirely sure what he might find. As his eyes adjusted, he realized the small space was simple, and really almost bare. Just a bed, covered in a crooked blanket, with a nightstand and a cupboard. The barrels and bowls stacked along the walls made it clear that Merlin had had to carve out a home in what was functionally Gaius's storeroom.

A vicious scowl twisted Arthur's features as he began stomping on the floorboards with more force than strictly necessary. When the hollow spot rang beneath his boot, he ripped back the old board and plunged his hand into the dark recess to retrieve Merlin's book.

Bringing it into the light of the workroom, Arthur rubbed his fingers over the cracked leather cover before handing it to Gaius, who was seated at the table. Gaius set the book down and opened it with surety, flipping from page to page with only the briefest of pauses to check his position. Finally, he found what he was looking for.

Instead of directing his attention to the sword, however, he placed a small leather pouch on the table beside him. Then he raised one hand. "Anhyde ryme," he intoned, and his eyes glowed gold in the night.

Nothing happened. At least, nothing Arthur could see. But then Gaius picked up the pouch, untied the laces, and proceeded to push his entire arm inside. The pouch was no larger than it had been before, and Gaius's arm did not burst from the end of it. Rather, it appeared as though his arm were simply gone, and in its place a small leather bag hung at his shoulder in midair.

"Ah, good," Gaius said, a touch smugly. "That one was one of my old favorites." The twinkle in his eye caught Arthur off-guard and he had to forcibly close his jaw with a snap. 

Gaius withdrew his hand. "This pouch is now larger inside than it appears without. It will hold your sword and you can keep it with you always without arousing any suspicion."

"That's... rather clever, actually," Arthur admitted. He looked down to see Pen, who had come out of hiding and was regarding the pouch with avid interest.

"How much can it hold?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Gaius said. "Although I imagine the sword is quite enough for now. Come on, then, pop it in." He held out the pouch to Arthur.

Arthur regarded the blade lying naked on the table. _Take me up_ , it said. _Cast me away._ He did take it up, only to slide it neatly into the little pouch and draw the strings tight once the sword was safely inside. He hefted the bag in one hand.

"It's got weight," he mused. He tied it on his belt and felt a pull that belied the bag's small size.

"It will hold," Gaius assured him. "Now, sire, I thank you for your time today, but the evening is getting on and I'm not as young as I used to be." 

Gaius folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head in a gesture of respect as well as dismissal. Though his usual sparking efficiency had been on display for the whole business with the sword, Arthur knew he would need some time to deal with all they had discussed.

As much as he wanted to give him space, however, he wasn't finished. "There's... one more thing," he began. Then he stopped, uncertain how to explain.

Gaius raised one towering eyebrow and waited, patient as stone. Avia's sleek head peeking from his robes belied the stoicism. What more could Arthur possibly have to say?

Pen came to his rescue. "We're not entirely certain Merlin is dead," she said bluntly. Arthur glared at her when Gaius recoiled with a gasp.

"How do you mean?" he said carefully. Arthur was glad he was sitting down.

Arthur began to pace, feeling the weight of the magic pouch bouncing steadily against his leg. "When we got to Ealdor, masses of Hunith's favorite flowers appeared by her woodpile after we gave her the news. Then on our way home, a wind rose along our path and I could have sworn it blew last year's leaves into the shape of a... a dragon." He paused. "Before... he made a smoke dragon for Pen when we were talking. After he saved me."

The look that now hung on Gaius's face could only be described as pity. "Arthur," he said gently. "Merlin was indeed a powerful warlock. I take it to mean you see his magic in these events?" Arthur nodded, stopping his walk. "My dear boy, I understand why you feel that way. I do. Merlin was unique. The things you describe, however... they could be magic, but they could just as easily be coincidence.

"Grief is hard. At the beginning there is always denial. But you cannot spend your days wondering if Merlin is hiding in every windstorm." The kindness in Gaius's eyes burned.

"That's not--" Arthur started.

"It's late," Gaius cut him off. "We both need rest. And, I think, a bath for you." The corners of his lips twitched up.

Arthur nodded again, crestfallen. "Thank you, Gaius," he said softly.

"You are welcome, sire." Again, he bowed his head low. "And thank you, as well. For giving me a third chance."

With lips pressed tight and eyes prickling from a sudden well of tears, Arthur turned to talk from the room. Pen stuck to him like a shadow. On his way out, he impulsively grabbed Merlin's shallow silver bowl. Gaius watched him go in silence.

* * *

Starlight tickled. At least, it did when he was a leaf, greedy for light and getting only the faintest of pinpricks from the orbs in the night sky. Merlin shook himself free and traveled down, down the branch, down the trunk, down into the roots and the soil until he bumped up against an earthworm burrowing steadily by. Too slimy! That nearby rhizome, though... a moment later and he was tucked in the nodding heads of a circle of field mushrooms, bubbling out of the earth after the soaking rain shower that passed through earlier in the evening. Mushrooms didn't care for starlight either way. They simply swelled, and their gills spread wide as their spores matured and prepared to go to ground.

He thought he heard his name, once, but then again, how would an ant know how to speak?


	15. Chapter Three

"You summoned me, sire."

Uther never dined in his chambers. Arthur had never understood why. He'd never questioned it, actually--he'd simply known where to look to find his father in the mornings. (Here, at the head of the long table.) There were a great many things Arthur realized he'd never thought to question about him, in truth.

"Ah, Arthur, so good of you to join us."

Uther's forced cheerfulness put Arthur instantly on the alert. He didn't need to look at Saja's twitching tail to realize his displeasure.

"If you're quite finished dealing with your manservant's effects, I trust you recall that you have duties to attend to?" Uther twirled a cut of meat on the end of his knife, examining the sauce as congealed brown globs plopped back onto his plate.

"Of course, sire. What are your orders today?" Arthur bit his cheek and forced himself to look placidly into his father's eyes. Not for the first time he was thankful for Pen's tendency towards stoicism; she could control herself much better than most daemons he knew. She sat unperturbed at his side.

Uther wore his greatness like a mantle. He always positioned himself at the precise angle to show it off for maximum effect. His casual lean into the table was probably unconscious, Arthur knew, but it was nonetheless a move developed and perfected over time.

"We've received reports of Druid encampments encroaching on Camelot's lands," Uther said. "You will take a score of men and handle the situation before the week is out." He punctuated his order with a bite of meat.

"Will that be all, Father?"

"For now. I expect to see you on the training grounds today--the knights have been lax in your absence."

Arthur hated when he spoke with his mouth full. "Certainly." He bowed and turned to go.

"And you'll need a new manservant, of course," Uther continued, still chewing. "There's a new lad in the stables who might train up nicely. You really should have proper service, you know."

"Indeed," Arthur said, walking deliberately out the door.

* * *

Arthur trudged back to his chambers with Pen padding silently at his side. So this was it, then--back to business as usual. Back to reality. Back to his duties and his father. Funny how the things that had defined his life's purpose a few short weeks ago rang false and hollow now.

He'd promised Hunith he'd honor Merlin. Somehow, he thought murdering men, women and children for the crime of harboring magic would not be a welcome tribute.

He continued down the corridor, pausing as he neared his chambers. The door was slightly ajar. He exchanged a puzzled look with Pen before sweeping into the room, his hand hovering over his sword pouch.

"Gwen!" he exclaimed, dropping his guard as she stood from his table. Her clothes were dusty and the hem of her skirt was heavy with mud--she'd just come from the road. "I wasn't expecting you for some time," Arthur said. "Why didn't you wait for your escort?" He pushed the door shut behind him as Pen darted forward to touch Viro's nose in greeting. Viro's ears lay flat against his back.

"My lord," she nodded, wringing her hands. "We need to talk," she blurted, meeting his eyes earnestly for a moment before flicking her gaze away again.

"About?" Arthur asked, puzzled. "Sit, Gwen. Have some water."

She bobbed a curtsey and poured a goblet for him before making one for herself. The slosh from the pitcher sounded overly loud in the room. Looking around, Arthur realized some servant had mistaken Merlin's alethiometer for a finger bowl and filled it when he'd been out of the room. He scowled. Then Gwen recaptured his attention, placing Arthur's goblet at one end of his table before retreating to the other side, where she let hers land with a thud. Finally, she sat.

Arthur took the place opposite hers. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's just... I understand it now, I suppose. Why they found it so hard to tell people."

"Who?"

"Merlin," she replied. "And Morgana."

"What?"

"About their magic."

Arthur sat back in shock. "You have it too?"

Gwen frowned for a moment, puzzled. "What do you--oh, no!" she said, and then she laughed, relief washing over her face. "Oh goodness, I suppose I'd better start from the beginning." She tilted her head apologetically.

"Please," Pen said.

"Well," Gwen started, smoothing her skirt, "when you told me Merlin had magic, I wasn't terribly surprised. There were times that I wondered. Funny things happened around him, you know? And he was the one who thought of the Druids."

Arthur gave her a look.

"Right, the beginning. Sorry. What I mean to say is... I knew. About Morgana. Before she announced her magic in court." She paused, waiting for his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and she continued. "You remember her nightmares?"

"Yes." He remembered a time when Morgana had seemed especially tired, at least--perhaps nightmares had been keeping her awake?

"They were horrible. They were truly driving her mad. She saw the most awful things, and sometimes, what she saw... sometimes those things would come true. Do you remember how frightened she was when you left to find the Questing Beast?" Arthur nodded. "She'd seen in a dream that you'd be bitten. She was terrified that you would die."

And Arthur would have, he knew now, if not for Merlin's aid.

"She tried everything to keep them at bay. Sleeping draughts from Gaius, staying awake, long rides through the countryside... nothing helped. The worst part, though, was that she couldn't tell anyone. I found out by accident. I dropped my key in her room and had to go back after I'd been dismissed for the evening. When I opened the door, she was sobbing, just crying and crying, and I was so shocked I grabbed her and shook her--I panicked, I thought maybe she'd been hurt--and she broke down and told me everything. We stayed up all night talking." Gwen's eyes brimmed with tears. She paused to scoop Viro off the floor and cuddle him in her lap. "She didn't say it then, but she was so afraid she might have magic."

Arthur felt like the dung stuck to his horse's shoe. Pen lay by his side, face averted, ears drooping. 

"And Merlin... helped?" he said quietly after a moment.

"Yes," she said earnestly. "I suppose he knew what was happening, though why he didn't tell her about _his_ magic, I don't know... in any case, he put her in touch with the Druids. She met with them in secret and they taught her the most wonderful things. That's why she stood up to the court, you know. She couldn't stand the thought that such kind and generous people had to live in fear."

"Of course she couldn't," he muttered, half to himself. "Nevermind that Father is completely irrational about magic and she challenged his authority in front of _every_ one."

"If she went to him in private, she was afraid he'd keep her secret and call on someone to hide her away," Gwen countered. "In public, he had to acknowledge her. And she thought he truly loved her. He told her she was like a daughter to him. She was counting on _family_ for a chance at mercy and deliberation." 

Arthur swallowed. "And you thought this was a good plan?"

"I don't know what else she could have done. It seems family wasn't strong enough, in the end."

The rebuke hit Arthur hard. He thought back to that day in the throne room--his shock, his paralysis, his fear... his knee-jerk reactions that prevented him from understanding what Morgana was truly trying to to say. His failure. _I told you once,_ Merlin's voice rang in his ears, _you have to listen as well as you fight._

Gwen suddenly realized what she'd said. "That is--I mean--" Her hand flew to her throat.

"You're right," Arthur stopped her. "She is my sister in all but name. You're right."

A brief silence descended. Gwen slid her chair back and rose to pour more water, though neither had had so much as a sip. Arthur nodded his thanks and gulped a mouthful, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing. Gwen drank a small measure as she collected her thoughts.

"At any rate," she began again, tracing the smooth grain on the tabletop, "I think I know where she might be."

Arthur sat up. "Where?" he asked.

"I never knew how she communicated with the Druids, or where they went to meet," she said. "But when I was in Ealdor I overheard one of the farmers talking about bartering for herbs with Druids on the road back from market some two days before. The market is just this side of Camelot's border."

"And you think they might still be there?"

"I rode out to ask, as close as I dared," Gwen said. "But no one was there when I arrived and I didn't want to leave the road on my own. Will you come back with me to look again?"

"You pack provisions. I'll see about fresh horses," Arthur replied. "And rest a bit this afternoon. We'll have to ride hard tonight."

He thought back to Gaius, and the way he bore his regrets. He thought of his father's orders and the kind of king he wanted someday to be. Gwen was giving him a gift. He would not waste his second chance.


	16. Chapter Four

Night bred caution. The market Gwen had spoken of was half a day's ride in the light; in the dark, with the moon a waning crescent, their pace was frustratingly slow. Arthur pushed them to a canter whenever he dared but mostly had to settle for picking their way along the road.

Their way had narrowed to hardly more than a path as it skirted a steep, rocky slope before disappearing into the next stand of trees. The air was brisk, but not cold; the trees' stark winter silhouettes were beginning to fill in with new leaves.

As they walked into the wood, Arthur looked back. "All right?" he called softly.

"Fine," Gwen responded. Her face was hidden in the depths of her cloak.

He nudged his mare to walk on, trusting Pen to find the path ahead. She was easy to follow; the gold flecks in her fur flashed even in the thin moonlight and the tips of her ears almost seemed to glow. Her night vision made her an unparalleled wayfinder. As slowly as they were traveling, they would not move half so quickly without her.

"Not much farther now," she called back to them.

Arthur adjusted the white band Gwen had tied to his arm. No sword was visible on his belt, though he kept his dagger tucked inside the leg of his boot. They were well beyond the range of Camelot's nighttime patrols. He debated whether to light a torch. It would dim Pen's vision, but it might also draw the Druids' attention. It could certainly draw less desirable attentions as well, but he did have Excalibur hidden in the pouch, and--

A rustling in the bushes caused Arthur to fumble for a weapon that was not there. Cursing, he drew his mount up short. "Show yourself," he commanded.

Pen circled in time to see a figure emerge on the path between them. She bared her teeth and let out a low growl, gathering her hindquarters to strike.

" _Leoht._ "

A ball of blue light spun into existence in the palm of the stocky figure's outstretched hand. He shrugged off a cowl and drew himself up to his full, though not terribly impressive, height.

"Darius?" Arthur gaped. It was the scholar who had sent him in search of the sword!

"The same," Darius replied, his face solemn. His otter daemon peeked out from beneath his robes.

"You know him?" Gwen asked. She pulled her horse alongside Arthur and blinked in the sparkling mage light.

"Guinevere," Darius acknowledged. "If you would all be so kind as to follow me." He bobbed a cursory bow and pivoted to walk smoothly back into the brush. A flick of his wrist sent the mage light to hover over his head.

"Wait!" Arthur called, scrambling to dismount. "He's the one responsible for this whole mess," he whispered loudly to Gwen.

She followed his lead and slid to the ground, taking her horse's head and tucking Viro into the crook of her arm. "Do you think--" she started.

"I think he has a lot of explaining to do," Pen growled. She charged ahead as Darius pressed deeper into the wood.

Gwen and Arthur followed grimly. Branches smacked their legs and faces as the vegetation grew dense. Arthur cursed again when he tripped on a woody runner while trying to help his horse negotiate the undergrowth. Each rustle and snap put his teeth on edge. His pulse jumped as he feared his mare would spook at any moment, though he tried to keep his motions calm and assured. They were slow, and at every moment Darius was moving farther and farther away.

They pressed on until they stumbled abruptly upon a clearing. Pen stood in the center of the eerily round, empty space, looking this way and that and hissing with displeasure.

"I was right behind him!" she snarled. "Now he's vanished!"

"Was he a Druid?" Gwen asked, loosening her lead and pushing her hood back. Her horse huffed and pawed the ground.

"Indeed," came Darius's voice. "I apologize for my earlier deception, Prince Arthur."

Gwen and Arthur whirled to see him re-enter the clearing from the opposite side with two robed men in tow. He'd put his light out, rendering them all shadowy and indistinct. One had a squirrel daemon and the other's was tucked somewhere out of sight.

Arthur angrily passed his reins to Gwen and stalked forward to meet them in the middle. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. His fingers once again itched for a weapon he could not use.

"I will tell you all as soon as I am able," Darius said, holding up his hands. "I mean you no harm; I swear it."

"And I should trust the word of a man who deceived me before?"

"I did only what I had to. I played my own small role in the coming of your destiny."

"Just what would you know of that?" Arthur asked dangerously. The hair on Pen's neck stood on end.

"I know it has... gone wrong," Darius said, faltering. His otter daemon whined. "The Lady Morgana--"

Gwen's hopeful gasp checked Arthur's anger. "What of her?" she called, drifting closer to the cluster of men.

Darius kept his gaze on Arthur. "You seek her. Perhaps we should begin there," he ventured.

"So you can help with that too, can you?" Arthur scowled.

"She sent us to fetch you," he replied. He chuckled at Arthur's deepening frown. "She _is_ a Seer. My lord." He bobbed another bow bordering on irreverence.

"Fine," Arthur said. "Take us to her, then."

"Your weapons, first," one of the other Druids broke in. His voice was high and reedy--still a boy, for all his height. "If you want to enter our camp you cannot be armed."

"Fine!" Arthur repeated. He reached down and yanked the dagger from his boot, holding it out to the boy. "Take it. You see the white cloth. You see no sword on my belt." The boy took the dagger gingerly and Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms.

"Not all weapons are ordinary steel," the third man said. His voice was gravelly and aged. "I sense a powerful magic on your person, young prince."

Damn. "I do have an... object in my possession," Arthur said. "But it is something I cannot part with. You have my word I will not use it to harm you."

The old man laughed. "Your word means little to someone who had family at Hillock Wells. Why do you conceal this object?"

Arthur's blood ran cold. He shared a panicked glance with Pen. Hillock Wells, the site of his first, disastrous raid...

"Forgive me," he said stiffly. "Your wariness is understandable. I assure you, though, the object is irrelevant to our meeting. I only carry it because I cannot leave it behind."

"So it is a weapon," the old man pressed. "Or could be, if it fell to the wrong hands."

"It's been nothing but trouble and I'd rather it didn't exist," Arthur said mulishly.

"A compromise, perhaps," Darius broke in again. "Would you show us this object, at least?"

An itching in Arthur's teeth said, _no_ , but he could grasp no reasonable grounds to oppose. He shuffled back a step. "If you agree to take us to Morgana," he said, "I will let you see it."

"Agreed," Darius said swiftly.

Arthur held up a hand. " _And_ you will leave us unbound and unhindered. We will be free to depart at our discretion." 

The old man grizzled a bit but nodded. "Fine," he said, waving one arm in the air.

Arthur took a deep breath. He glanced back at Gwen. Though her features were obscured by darkness, he could imagine the tiny wrinkle that must be on her forehead and the way her lips would purse with questions. Still, she said nothing. She waited.

Arthur moved back another step. Pen lay down at his feet, a barrier to the Druid trio. Then Arthur reached into the pouch and grasped Excalibur's hilt, drawing it swiftly and holding it aloft for all to see.

A rush of feeling traveled from his sword arm straight to his heart. His muscles relaxed for the first time in days as a pleasant, nearly imperceptible vibration caressed his body. His arm felt complete--the sword an extension, light as a feather. His earlier aversion was entirely gone. Even Pen was calm, and Arthur thought the tips of her ears shone a touch brighter.

And they were not all that was bright. The sword itself collected moonlight until it glowed, softly, luminously, like white embers. It reflected pinpricks of light in the wondering eyes around them.

"Excalibur," Darius breathed. "You recovered it."

"It's a myth," the young Druid protested. His squirrel daemon scampered as close as she dared.

"It's a danger to us all," the old man said. "We can't allow you any closer." He put his hand on the younger man's shoulder and pulled him backwards, catching him off balance.

"On the contrary," Darius said, his patience wearing thin. "It is the most promising development we've seen in quite some time."

"For him to wield it without Emrys for balance? A disaster!" The old man tightened his grip.

"Emrys?" Arthur broke in. The pleasant thrum in his chest wobbled. "I've... heard that name before."

"We have much to discuss. You've done as we asked; now, please, follow me." Darius leveled a glare at the old man, who curled his lip but made no move to intervene. The boy, standing between them, had eyes only for the sword.

Arthur slipped Excalibur back into its pouch and blinked in the dark as its light snuffed out. His stomach fluttered and he let the pouch drop back onto his hip. "Now, the Lady Morgana," he said, mustering a semblance of conviction.

"The Lady Morgana," Darius agreed, motioning for the other Druids to proceed him into the night.

Later, as they followed a hidden path, Gwen drew close. Arthur's mare's body blocked her face from view.

"So," she began. "Morgana wasn't the only one with a secret." Her tone was perfectly even.

"No," Arthur agreed. "She wasn't."

* * *

"You can tie your horses here."

They had come upon the Druid encampment. Cloth tents and other hangings draped branches and poles in a harmonious riot of fabrics muted by the darkness. Everything was still. The quiet could be attributed to the hour, but Arthur didn't think so. It felt as though the camp were holding its breath.

He and Gwen tethered their mounts to a low branch. His mare tossed her head and clacked her bit before settling. Arthur passed a hand over her warm neck and patted her shoulder soundly--she really was an exceptional horse.

"Come," Darius called.

No stalling, then. Darius and the Druids led them through the encampment and then out the other side, following a rise towards another tent standing apart. As they approached, a light sparked inside and its glow seeped through the tent's rough spun sides.

"This is where we leave you," Darius said. Arthur turned to look at him, but the three men were already melting back into the darkness of the camp below. He huffed. An excellent disappearing act--though he was willing to bet they had not gone far.

"Morgana?" Gwen's soft, hopeful notes drew his attention back to the tent. Gwen advanced with careful steps. "My lady?"

A flap moved aside and there she was, silhouetted in the entrance. Brecan made a dark shape at her side.

"Gwen," she said, voice breaking.

Gwen sprang forward and launched herself into Morgana's surprised embrace. "You're alive," she cried, tightening her grip. "I thought you would be, and the Druids said--but I didn't _know_ \--" She lay her head on Morgana's shoulder and closed her eyes, clenching her jaw to fight back tears. Viro made no attempt at restraint; his small noises of joy in distress were only muffled when Brecan pulled him close.

"Gwen," Morgana repeated, slowly moving one hand across her back. "I had no idea you... Gwen, shhh. Shhh. I'm alright." Gwen let out a hiccup. "I should have contacted you. I'm sorry, I thought it would be better this way."

"You were wrong," Gwen sniffed. "My lady."

Morgana laughed and squeezed her tight before stepping back from the embrace. She grasped Gwen's shoulders and smiled faintly. "No need for titles now," she said. Her expression flickered for a bare moment, but then she smiled again. "I'm just Morgana out here."

"Morgana," Gwen said, and the round apples of her cheeks glowed in the tent's warm light.

"Morgana," Arthur repeated. He remained rooted in place.

Morgana stiffened. Her expression shuttered as she turned to look down towards him. "Arthur," she said archly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Pen growled and Arthur looked down at her, surprised. Her ears were flat and her emotions bubbled over with agitation. Brecan answered her with a deeper rumble.

"Wait," Arthur said, holding out his hands. "I'm here because... look, I think we need to talk."

Morgana looked back at Gwen and sighed. "Talk, then," she said. "Inside." She took Gwen by the arm and retreated back into the tent.

Arthur followed determinedly. Pushing back the flap, he blinked in the brighter light. The light's source was no candle or torch, however; rather, a miniature sun floated in one corner. It illuminated a spacious interior bounded by fabric in reds and browns. The floor was clean swept earth. Morgana had seated Gwen on a small wooden stool, while she herself reclined on a linen-draped cot. Brecan lay at her feet.

"Have a seat," Morgana said cooly, gesturing towards the floor.

Arthur glared but folded his legs gamely, sitting in the dirt with his back straight and head held high. Gwen moved to stand, but Morgana caught her arm once more and Arthur, too, waved her away.

"You look well," Arthur began stiffly. And she did--though dressed in simple robes, her hair loose but neat, Morgana still glittered. If anything, the spark was sharper, higher, now that it was not buried among courtly things.

"Oh, I am," she assured him. "I don't think I could say the same for you."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest but Gwen stepped in first. "My la--Morgana," she said. "We've come with no agenda. I heard rumors of the Druids' whereabouts while I was on the road and I asked Arthur to help me come find you," she explained. "We only want to know how you've been. What you hope to do."

"Where did you hear about the encampment?" Morgana narrowed her eyes. "If the news has reached the citadel--"

"It was Ealdor," Gwen assured her. "Friendly traders from a market."

Morgana remained suspicious. "Why were you in Ealdor?" she asked.

"Because Merlin's dead," Arthur broke in. He winced.

Morgana whipped her head around and fixed Arthur with a thunderous stare. "No," she whispered. "Merlin? How?"

"He died saving my life," Arthur explained. "With his magic."

The silence that followed roared in the tent's closeness. Brecan shot to his feet, tail lashing, and circled to face Morgana again. She had gone whiter than pale and her hands gripped her knees; her lips made a thin, bloodless line as she exhaled sharply through her nose. Gwen placed a hand on her arm.

"When?" Morgana asked, staring into the distance.

"Seven days past the last full moon."

She dropped her face into her hands and let her dark hair cascade forward. "Goddesses," she whispered. When her shoulders began to shake Gwen moved to her side, circling one arm across her back and patting her knee with the other. Brecan whirled away and began to pace in the cramped space off to Arthur's side. Pen inched closer to Arthur.

"I don't know why he didn't tell us," Gwen said softly.

"I don't know how I didn't see," Morgana said, in tears. "It all fits. It's all..." Choked up, she said no more for some time. Arthur averted his eyes, waiting.

Slowly, her shaking subsided. "In the week after the last full moon, I had the most terrible dreams," she said, lifting her head from her hands. She looked down at the ground. "I hadn't had a nightmare in so long, I'd forgotten what they were like. I moved up here so I wouldn't wake the others when I screamed." Gwen clutched her tightly. "But they were odd. Fantastical. I used to see real events, or the possibility of them. These dreams were horrors. And after seven days, they stopped. I saw nothing, asleep or awake."

Arthur frowned. "But the Druids said you knew--"

"I saw nothing until last night. Then I saw you." A trace of her earlier sneer crept back into her voice. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

"Second chances," he answered plainly. He slouched a bit, allowing his back to relax from its ramrod straightness. "Merlin showed me the truth about magic, and I lost him. I don't want to lose you, too."

"Oh," Morgana drawled. She sat up and scrubbed the tears from her face, shrugging Gwen's arms aside. " _Merlin_ showed you the truth, did he? So that's what it takes, for you to accept magic? Someone has to die for you?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "That's not how it happened. I wanted him to live."

"Of course. And you believed _him_ , when he told you he was good, but you wouldn't lift a finger to aid your own sister--!"

"That's not--"

"How dare you come here! How dare you show your face--"

"Morgana, calm down!"

"I will _NOT!_ "

Morgana stamped her foot and her mage light flared. Gwen and Arthur shut their eyes against the glare. At the same moment, Brecan leapt from his corner and landed heavily against Pen, claws out and teeth bared. Pen yowled and twisted around as Arthur pushed himself frantically backwards, trying to get out of the way. Brecan advanced again and Pen faced him squarely. When Brecan pounced, Pen rose to meet him with a snarl.

The two daemons had tussled often throughout their lives. Roughhousing was a common way to end disputes, especially for children--and in many ways, Arthur's relationship with Morgana hadn't matured much past the age of fourteen. This was more than that, though. Brecan's claws sought blood, and it wasn't clear how much would satisfy.

Arthur watched mutely as the daemons made a frenzy of light and dark, snarling and scrabbling in the dirt. He glanced over at Morgana, who arrested him with her glare. He opened his mouth--

"Stop!"

Arthur whipped around to see the tiny, brown Viro wade into the fray. Brecan recoiled in an instant, releasing a yowl of indignation. Pen dropped down with a thump.

"Morgana, we told you confronting Uther was a bad idea," Viro said. He sat up on his hindquarters, practically vibrating. "You thought so too," he continued, nodding at Brecan. "Arthur was surprised, and you know he's not very good at thinking through surprises. And then you killed that guard."

Everyone froze. Gwen stifled a choking gasp and clapped her hand to her mouth. "Viro--" She moved to retrieve him.

Morgana restrained her once again. Gwen bit her lip; Arthur looked up at them both for the span of a heartbeat and barked out a laugh that began to bleed the tension from the room. 

"I'll bet Arthur was even going to apologize," Viro piped up.

"I was," he agreed, a bit giddy. "I _am_ sorry, Morgana."

Morgana still looked like a thundercloud. Her fingers dug into Gwen's arm and a frown curled her features into something almost sinister.

Then Brecan padded up, panting a bit and oozing from his shoulder. He nuzzled Morgana's knee with a low, rumbling sigh. "Perhaps we could all use a second chance," he said gently. He lifted his head to look her in the eye.

She loosened her grip, then, and sat back a little. "The guard was an accident," she said at length. "I only meant to push him out of my way."

"You _are_ like a sister to me," Arthur said quickly. "I should have stood up to Father before things got that far."

Morgana's features darkened once more. "I'm not _like_ your sister, Arthur. I _am_ your sister."

"What?"

She stood abruptly and took two long strides towards the other side of the tent, reaching for a satchel and beginning to rummage around. "I can See more than just my dreams," she said, pulling out a large white crystal and holding it up for all to see. " _Lóclóca_ ," she intoned, and her eyes glowed gold.

The whiteness of the crystal began to shift as though it contained a swirling mist. Gradually, it cleared, and a shape started to resolve. A pale shape, a face...

"Father?" Arthur asked.

It was Uther indeed, sleeping soundly with a slack expression. In the stillness of the tent, they could hear his little whistling breaths.

"What is this?" Gwen asked, sitting forward.

"A scrying stone," she answered. "It's how I discovered Uther for the snake he is. I caught him talking to Gaius about his secret--he lay with my mother when Gorlois was out on campaign. I'm his daughter. His flesh and blood."

If Arthur had heard this news a month ago, he would have been shocked. Now, it simply wearied him. "You don't know the half of it," he mumbled.

"You knew?" Morgana's eyes snapped to his and her tone grew shrill.

"No, no!" He waved his hands. "Not that. Other things."

"What other things?" she said icily.

"My mother was barren. She couldn't have children. She and my father used magic to help her conceive."

Arthur's brusque confession landed like a stone. No one moved. Then Brecan's tail began to twitch, and Morgana opened her mouth--

"The Great Dragon told me," Arthur clarified. "Three days before Merlin..." He paused. "Gaius confirmed it, afterwards."

"Arthur," Gwen said slowly. "I believe you had some explaining to do."

"I do, and I will," Arthur agreed. "But not now. Morgana..." He faltered. "I'm glad you're safe. I'm glad we found you."

Pen stepped forward and nosed Brecan's shoulder. Her ears lay slack and a short purr reverberated in her throat. Brecan accepted, touching Pen's nose in return before looking back towards Morgana for her final say.

She hesitated for only a moment. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" she snipped. She sat down again and abruptly crossed her arms over her chest.

"About...?"

"You know about Uther now. His hypocricy, his lies... even without those things, his attitudes towards magic users are cruel on principle. You're no longer his ignorant, adoring son, Arthur. So what are you going to do?"

Arthur swallowed. "Well--"

Gwen leaned forward and laid a hand on Morgana's arm. "My lady," she said, her tone even and light, "we've only just found you again. We've all learned quite a lot in such a short time--surely we'll need to think on things longer before any decisions are made."

"No," Arthur said, sitting up. "No, I _do_ have a plan. It's you." He pointed at his sister. His sudden impulse brought a bare smile to his face. "You're going to teach me about magic. So I can figure out how to bring it back."

His short, triumphant statement was met with dubious stares. Morgana rolled her eyes. "It never went away," she said. "Just because you're unaware of something doesn't mean it ceases to exist."

"You know what I mean," Arthur retorted. "If I am to lift the ban when I am king, I have to know how it will affect my kingdom. My subjects. All of them--magic and not."

Morgana looked away, a host of inscrutable expressions flashing over her face. She cleared her throat. "I suppose it's the least you could do," she murmured. Brecan rumbled his agreement.

"You truly mean that?" Gwen asked tentatively.

"Like she said--it seems the least I could do." Morgana's response had left Arthur wrongfooted, caught between haughty and humble.

"Oh that would be--that's wonderful!" Gwen burst into a grin. She clasped her hands, and Morgana's mage light brought out the sparkles in her eyes. "I've always known you'd be a great ruler someday, especially since Merlin..." she paused. "Well, this proves it," she continued. "Think of how lovely it will be."

"When it happens... _if_ it happens..." Morgana said darkly. She still wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"Look, I have to start somewhere," he pleaded.

A sharp, ascending warble broke through their conversation. Birdsong. Dawn was on its way.

"No, you need to go," Morgana said suddenly. "And so do we."

Arthur scrambled to his feet and reached out, but refrained from grasping her shoulder at the last moment. He stood with his weight on his toes. "Wait," he said. "Please." In a last-ditch effort, he tried on his wounded soldier expression.

To his great delight, Morgana snorted. "That hasn't worked on me since you were twelve," she said. "Stay there."

She moved again to the satchel that she had retrieved her crystal from earlier. She opened the flaps and drew a smaller example from a pocket, this one attached to a cord. She extended the crystal towards Arthur.

"Wear this day and night," she said. "It will allow me to contact you directly."

Arthur slipped the cord over his head and took the pendant in his palm. It was smooth and cool, and the tip was very sharp. "How?" he asked.

<Like this,> Morgana's voice rang in Arthur's head.

He dropped the pendant against his chest and stumbled backwards in shock. "What the..." he began. Then he frowned. "Can you--"

"No, I can't read your mind," Morgana snickered. "Honestly, Arthur. This simply allows me to speak to you, no matter where you are. If I can manage to get through your thick skull, of course."

Arthur eyed the pendant again. "And can I... speak back to you?" he asked, ignoring the barb.

"No," she said primly. "I wouldn't want you interrupting me at all hours, would I?" Then she turned to Gwen, and her expression softened. "I only have one," she said apologetically. "But I can ask the Druids to make me another soon. And I'm sure Arthur will keep you updated until then. Won't you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Actually," Gwen said softly. "I was hoping he wouldn't need to."

"What?" Morgana turned to face her again.

Gwen kneaded at the fabric of her skirts. "I don't have anything keeping me in Camelot," she explained. "My father is gone and my brother... I don't even know where he is. Camelot is a home to me, of course," she demurred, "but when I heard news of the Druids, when I realized I could find you again..." She trailed off and pressed one hand to her throat, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. "I'd like to stay with you and the Druids, my lady. Morgana. If you'll have me."

Another bird sang a sweet whistling tune before the first joined in again. A third began to peep in the background.

"Gwen," Morgana breathed. She blinked. "You wouldn't want to live out here. You'd..." She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain a bit of composure. "The nights are... cold," she went on. "There is no luxury. I spend most of my days looking for tubers." The last was said in the lowest of whispers, as though Arthur would not be able to hear.

And Arthur felt distinctly as though he would like to be anywhere else. He shifted his weight and looked away. Gwen. Gods. She had wanted his help to find Morgana; she hadn't been leading him to her for his own sake...

"I wasn't always a castle maid, you know," Gwen shot back. She stood, her posture tall and straight, and her face was calm. "Before my mother died we lived in Riverbend,"--hardly more than a hamlet--"and it was my job to forage in the winters when our stores were low on food." Viro, too, sat up at her feet. "And I can contribute, if that's what worries you. I may not have magic but I can mend, and cook, and make soap, and I can do some metalwork if I can access a file and forge."

"That's not--no, Gwen," Morgana reached for her now, grasping both her hands. "I'm not concerned that you _contribute_ , for goodness' sakes. I just... don't understand why you would find the prospect appealing."

"You know why," Gwen said steadily, holding Morgana's gaze.

"But all your things--" Morgana faltered.

"Are already here," Gwen said. "I packed everything of importance in my bags before we left this afternoon. The man who's been leasing my father's forge has offered to buy it--I only need to say the word and I'll have a good bit of gold. Arthur could arrange the trade."

Arthur goggled. "Of course," he said gallantly, recovering.

"Truly, Gwen?" Morgana asked. Her voice was terribly small. "This is truly what you want?"

"Yes," she said fiercely, moving incrementally into Morgana's space. Brecan sniffed at Viro's ears and lowered his head. Viro nuzzled his crown in return. 

"Then stay," Morgana said, pulling her close and wrapping her in her arms.

A predawn bubble of stillness and possibility expanded within the tent. Morgana pressed her face to Gwen's nape and relaxed, inch by inch, over the length of a long, joyful sigh. Gwen giggled, and the birds outside agreed, chirping more boldly now that the sun was on its way.

When Morgana pulled back to gaze deeply into Gwen's eyes, Arthur broke the moment with a cough.

"This new smith, then," he said. "What's this fellow's name?"

He found himself receiving looks from two incredulous women for the second time that morning.

"I'll need his name to get your gold?" he went on.

Both Gwen and Morgana dissolved into laughter and practically pushed him out the door.


	17. Chapter Five

Merlin rolled over. He shivered and shook, expanding from the ping-ping-ping that had carried him along underground. It was difficult to navigate inside a rock, but he had done it--he'd gone down and down, through the wet rock to the dry, to the hot and back again, astonished all the while at the _vibrations_. The earth quivered--it trembled--it spoke with its own cryptic meter and rhyme. Its poetry had begun before remembering and would continue through the end of time.

Now Merlin was out--up and out. The rocks were far too much... and Archimedes hadn't been there, anyway. Merlin bit at the loamy dirt and savored its fecund taste. Plump, straining rootlets soaked up its sustenance and married it to the sun.

Living things--life. Merlin loved it all. More than the breeze or the brook or the rocky soil beneath, the heart of the world was the bounding pulse of nature.

Root after root he tasted, each the anchor of a singular and precious life. Thready grasses, hefty tubers, deep, woody tap roots piercing down and down, and here--a bulb, and here--

Merlin shuddered. These were roots, yes. Twisted roots to match a twisting vine. But they soaked up more than water, and their anchor was weightier than the dirt. There was _magic_ here, concentrated, flowing, feeding the vines as they climbed up and up.

But where? Up what? And why?

* * *

Arthur lay on his bed, too exhausted to move. Pen cleaned herself fastidiously on the stone near the hearth. They had left the camp that morning with the Druids' cryptic promises of things to come and arrived back at Camelot's gates sweaty and disheveled, only to run directly into Uther's disapproving glare. By the time Arthur had explained his absence and the extra horse he'd had to scurry down to the training fields, where Leon greeted him with a brief nod before ceding the drill to Arthur. He'd swung a sword all afternoon wearing only his traveling clothes. His shoulders and hip smarted from blows he'd been too slow to avoid.

The dirt and grass he was surely shedding on the bedclothes would irritate Merlin to no end. He'd walk in the door and splutter about how hard it was to get mud out of silk, and Arthur would roll around a little more and say it was his own fault for being late to attend him after training. Then Merlin would stomp about in a huff getting things ready for Arthur's bath and Arthur would smile as Pen tried to hold on to a disapproving glare.

Only now, of course, his chambers were silent. He had come straight from training without saying a word to anyone. No bath was on its way. He supposed someone might think to bring him supper, but it really should be here by now, if so.

Had it really been only two years that Merlin had served him? Only two years that Merlin had stood by his side?

It felt like so much more. Like a lifetime. He could hardly remember what his days had been like before Merlin's chatter woke him each morning and Merlin's hands undressed him each night. Merlin outlined the shape of his life.

And now that Arthur knew the truth, he knew, too, that Merlin could be so much more. _Had_ been much more, in secret ways that Arthur wished desperately could be seen. He cursed himself for taking so long to come to grips with Merlin's powers: all issues with destiny aside, he felt sick that so many of Merlin's last days had been spent in fear and pain. What else might have been? That night in the forest, when he'd first held him close... and the day after, when he'd reached out to touch Pen... those moments were seared in Arthur's memory, the more painful for being so brief. What could they have had, if only Arthur had _listened_?

The mattress dipped near his thigh. Pen had leapt onto the bed. She nipped at his knee with a hum.

"Why don't you get these clothes off, then?" she asked.

Arthur lifted his head a fraction of an inch, pressing his chin down to see her. She'd come off the better in the brawl with Brecan, but still had a cut on her lip that made Arthur wince. Daemons weren't true sinew and blood, of course. They were formed of daemonflesh, an essential manifestation of a person's soul. Their bodies healed quickly. She'd likely be all right in the morning.

At Arthur's blank stare, Pen's expression softened. She nuzzled his fingertips where they lay on the bed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, beginning to turn away.

"I know," he said, catching her ruff and pulling her down to his chest. He squeezed her fiercely and burrowed his hands in her fine, clean fur. "Don't go," he said softly. Her warm bulk steadied his breathing.

"Never," she answered vehemently. "I am yours, Arthur, always. Your heart."

"My heart," he agreed, and he inhaled her scent as tears began coursing down his face.

* * *

Over a week passed before Morgana contacted him again. Arthur was standing at his father's side as he received the townsfolk's petitions. He'd spent his days in Camelot adhering scrupulously to his role as crown prince: he attended his father, trained his knights, spoke thoughtfully in council, and went to bed early. He had even managed to convince his father that the Druids had moved beyond Camelot's borders--his midnight travels to find Morgana had been transformed into a scouting mission acting on a tip from a traveler.

Now he swayed imperceptibly on his feet, clenching one leg and then the other to keep his focus on the proceedings at hand. A peasant kneeled before Uther, speaking quickly with a tremble in his voice. Something about... frogs, and birds, and his food stores?

<Hello, Arthur,> Morgana's voice rolled through his mind.

Arthur gasped but covered it quickly with an attempt at a cough. Taking no notice, Uther dispatched the peasant with a few short words and beckoned for the next petitioner to step forward. 

<I hope this is a good time,> Morgana continued.

He tightened his jaw and blinked rapidly, wishing there were some way he could alert Gaius. The physician was in the room to report on the resolution of a short bout of fever in the lower town. Arthur had told him everything upon his return from the Druid camp; he hoped Gaius would cover for him if anything difficult came up. But Gaius simply stood and gazed attentively at the far wall.

<Oh, you've been very good for Daddy this week, haven't you?> Morgana lilted. The next petitioner began to speak. <He says "jump!" and you ask how high.>

_Get to the point,_ Arthur thought indignantly.

Pen looked up at him, sensing his discomfort but not knowing the reason for it. Her eyes widened. "It's glowing," she hissed in a low, urgent tone. "Hide it!"

The pendant! Arthur glanced down and realized the crystal was hanging on the outside of his clothing and indeed glowing a faint but radiant gold. _Damnation._ He moved hastily to tuck it back inside his tunic and pretended to be readjusting his collar.

"I suppose you have a solution for this man's troubles, then, Arthur?"

Arthur looked up again to realize his father had noticed Pen's whispered interruption. Uther sat twisted in his seat, looking down his nose at Arthur despite being many inches lower. His boar Saja grunted disapprovingly.

Then Arthur glanced at the petitioner and realized he was no random peasant--he was one of the masons who kept up the castle and its defenses. His name was... Peter? John? Arthur swallowed. He decided to bluff. "I would be happy to accompany Peter to inspect the problem myself," he offered. "Once we determine the appropriate resources for the job I'm sure he'll be able to manage."

Uther's frown deepened. Arthur's heart kicked. "Yes," Uther said at last. "I imagine he will. Very well, after the audience you shall be available to show these vines to the crown prince at the time and place he requests. Next!"

Long years of training kept Arthur from sagging in relief. Now, though, Gaius did look up to catch his eye. Arthur shot him a tight smile.

Morgana's chuckle broke through. <Well done,> she said. <I wasn't sure you'd manage.>

Arthur's hackles rose--she could see and hear everything he was doing. What was she thinking! What if someone had seen the pendant? What if Uther increased his scrutiny upon finding Arthur so inattentive?

<Don't be angry, Arthur--you get to visit me tonight! And you won't even have to travel far. When the cooks leave the kitchens, go to the farthest storeroom and stand by the cupboard with the door that sticks on the right.>

Morgana was... hiding in the castle? Or someone else was sitting there, waiting until dark to take him away?

<The Druids say be sure to bring your sword,> Morgana said. <Until then, brother dearest!>

Her presence in his mind dissipated swiftly and Arthur closed his eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the audiences. Just as he settled in, however, Uther stood, signaling an end to the afternoon. Arthur suddenly found himself face to face with the stonemason he'd puzzled over earlier.

"Your Highness," the man--almost certainly Peter--said, bowing low before him. His weasel daemon did the same to Pen. "I am most grateful for your offer of assistance. When would you like to see the wall?"

"Ah..." Arthur bobbled. So it was a problem with a wall--could be serious. Or it might just be irritating. He needed to catch Gaius before he went back to the lower town. "D'you think it's something that could wait until morning?" he asked hastily, keeping one eye on the physician as he began gliding towards the doors.

The mason opened his mouth, a bit stunned by Arthur's casual attitude. "Why... I suppose it could, my lord, if it must," he said.

"Good," Arthur said heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll see to it just after breakfast." With that, he pushed past the mason and strode regally towards Gaius before he could get away.

* * *

Arthur jiggled the handles of each cupboard in turn until he found the one that wouldn't open without a tug. It had some old scratches on the frame, as though someone had had to force it, once. He peered inside. It was full of... stores. Sacks of something. Several things. Arthur sniffed. Flour, perhaps? And... herbs?

Pen peered in alongside him. "I don't see anything," she said doubtfully. "Do you think Morgana's having us on?"

"If she is, I'm sure I'll hear her laughing about it any minute now," Arthur grumbled, sweeping the shallow space again.

As if on cue, Morgana's amusement sounded in his mind. <Oh, you will,> she said. <Just not for the reason you think.>

Reflexively, Arthur looked up. A bright flash blinded him and he bit back a yell, throwing up an arm to cover his eyes. Then he felt the grip on his wrist, and the _tug_ , before he knew no more.


	18. Chapter Six

Heady, spicy smoke wafted over his nostrils and jolted him awake. He sneezed, jerking forward before flopping back down to the ground. His head felt like it had met the wrong end of a mace.

"Oh, buck up," Morgana's voice twinkled above him. "I can't believe you _fainted_."

Arthur peeled his eyelids open and crumpled his face into a scowl as he gingerly sat up on his elbows. "What did you do to me?" he demanded.

Morgana was a pale vision holding a bundle of smoldering herbs. "I transported you through the doorway," she answered. "It's how I met with the Druids when I still lived in the Citadel."

The doorway? Arthur looked up. A network of bundled branches formed an arch above his head. Morgana's mage light faintly illuminated the clearing around them.

"You made a secret magic door," he began.

"Yes."

"Into the heart of the castle."

"Yes."

"And let me guess--you _didn't_ stop to consider what might happen if someone else found out about it?" Arthur shifted again. Pen was there, lying calmly behind him and just off to the side. She flicked an ear in greeting.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Morgana shot back. "Should I have invited the Druids to parade through the courtyard? Would that have been a better plan?" Brecan let out a pointed warning growl, directed not at Arthur, but instead towards Morgana. She pursed her lips in response. "Precautions were taken, of course," she admitted. "I'm the only one with the key." She pulled on the leather cord around her neck and revealed a round amulet hanging from the bottom.

Arthur's head continued to throb. Bickering would get them nowhere.

"Where's Gwen?" he asked. "I have the terms of the new smith's offer for her."

"She ran to get water for you--because you _fainted_ ," Morgana said. "Come on, let's go find her so she doesn't have to walk all the way back." With that, she reached down to grab Arthur's shoulder and haul up until he managed to gain his feet.

"Augh!" he exclaimed. " _Thank_ you, Morgana. I'm fine." He brushed the dirt and grass from his trousers.

"You're welcome," she replied, turning to lead the way. Her mage light bobbed at her side.

Arthur took a moment to regain his bearings. The clearing was nondescript. Dark trees loomed at its edges, but no other features revealed themselves. Arthur patted his side, where Excalibur's comfortable weight still rested in the pouch on his hip. A rainstorm had passed through earlier; he breathed in its earthy scent and moved to follow Morgana before her light could get too far away.

They met Gwen on the path and she tutted over Arthur before allowing him to take the basin of water she'd carried back to the Druids' gathering place.

The Druids' camp beckoned to them from a distance. Instead of silent tents shrouded in darkness, all was awash with light: torches, magic spheres, and candles were assembled round the structures so every man, woman, and child could see them as they entered into the space. Some sat in the open while others peeped out from their dwellings. Arthur settled his face into a bland almost-smile and forced his hands to remain steady on the basin.

A low murmur started up as Morgana, Arthur, and Gwen approached. Parents hushed children and daemons chittered back and forth. Arthur swallowed--he had no idea he would have an audience.

"Sisters, brothers, friends," Morgana called out, raising one arm. She stopped walking. "Now that Arthur has arrived, I imagine Darius would like to begin?"

A rumble of agreement heralded Darius emerging at the front of the crowd. He carried the staff he'd been using when Arthur and Gwen had met him in the forest last.

"Your Royal Highness, Prince Arthur," he boomed, inclining his head. "We welcome you to our home."

"I am honored to be your guest, friend Darius," he responded smoothly, bending slightly in response. Gwen grabbed the water basin from his arms as he straightened and swiftly whisked it away. "I am at your service."

"Indeed!" Darius chuckled. "I hope you are not troubled by the reception?"

"I am in your hands," Arthur replied. He'd spoken with Gaius for hours after his father's audience, asking his advice about interacting with the Druids and Morgana. Gaius had thought they would respond best to humility and at least a touch of deference. He hadn't expected this crowd, but the strategy seemed to be working so far.

Now Darius laughed. "In some ways, that is true," he mused. "Though ideally, we would all be in yours."

A grumble shot through the camp, and Arthur thought he could make out the dour old man who had been against his arrival from the start. He tried to remain impassive.

"You've brought Excalibur, I trust," Darius went on. Arthur nodded. "I promised you a story the last time we met. To hear it, however, you must first tell us yours."

"What story would that be?" Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

"How you came to claim the sword, of course. And... what you know of Emrys."

Arthur looked around. He supposed he should have seen this coming. Deep in his gut, he probably had. He took in all the faces: some hopeful, others frightened. Morgana looked expectant. They took a great risk in welcoming him here, not knowing what truly lay in Arthur's heart. They should know. They deserved to know.

He looked down at Pen, who felt his unsettled mind and hesitant thoughts. She did not speak, but only bowed her head and let him touch her core of calm. She knew he'd do the right thing.

So Arthur chose to tell the truth.

He began with Morgana's departure, sparing no details but not dwelling on them either. From Darius's arrival in Camelot to his knights' encounter with the enchanted warriors, he stood and spoke unmoving. He paused there and Gwen thrust a cup into his hand, motioning for him to sit upon the ground. But no--this was a trial of sorts, likely the only one he'd ever get. So he remained on his feet and continued the tale with Merlin's skill as a healer. He did not pause again until Merlin had saved his life and he had rejected Merlin's magic. He told them about finding Merlin after Archimedes had gone away.

Without waiting for the Druids' reaction, he ploughed on, through Kilgharrah and the silent forest all the way to the shores of the lake and the green, scaly figure who had trapped him in the tests. And then he spoke of Merlin's wisdom in the thick of things. And then he spoke of Merlin's death.

"Mama!" A young child's cry broke through the solemn silence following the narrative of Merlin's sacrifice. "If Merlin is _Emrys_ , doesn't that mean Emrys is _gone_? If he's gone can he still save the magic?"

"Oh no, sweet, Emrys isn't gone forever," her mother said, petting her hair. "He's just traveled somewhere else for a bit. You'll see. Hush, now, and listen."

Arthur's stomach twisted. He didn't know much about the Druids' religion, but he imagined they hoped their loved ones watched over them after they passed. Merlin wasn't a Druid--of that Arthur was fairly certain--but he seemed to be important to these people. If only Arthur could take comfort as an adult in the fiction this mother offered to her child. To imagine, one day, that his soul might meet Merlin's again...

Now, though, he had to continue. And so he did, until he repeated the promise he'd made to Merlin's mother.

"I promised to honor his memory every day, with every breath," he said, pausing to sip cool water from the cup. "And I believe that means I must one day become the king he would want me to be. For as a king is supported by his kingdom, he must be her servant; and I intend to serve _all_ who call Camelot home.

"That means I serve you, too, and all magic users who were driven into hiding by my father's terrible Purge. Yet if I am to serve, I have much to learn, and I would be humbled if you would agree to teach me."

He lapsed into silence, setting his jaw and sweeping his gaze across the crowd. Gwen wiped away a tear. Morgana looked back at him, inwardly calculating.

"Esteemed council," she called suddenly, still holding Arthur's eye. "You have heard all that he has to say. Speak: does his heart please you?"

There was a shuffling amidst the crowd, and the murmuring began anew. A quarrel broke out in one fabric-draped corner. Arthur tensed, but then an old woman's voice rose above the fray.

"All is not lost!" she said rheumatically. At her proclamation, the others stilled. "His heart pleases me well." She sat on the ground, legs folded, with her serpent daemon coiled in her lap. A healer, perhaps?

"But his destiny--"

She stopped short the objector from the crowd. "As mist is to water."

Destiny. That word...

"We thank you, Great Mother," Darius stepped in smoothly. "Your guidance strengthens us, as ever. I trust the council do not object?" He looked around in a perfunctory manner; even the skittish old man did not speak. As Darius opened his mouth to continue, however, the Great Mother shifted and began to stand.

Morgana flew to her side in an instant, crouching to help lift her by the elbow. Great Mother gave her a gentle smile. She was small and round with bright strips of cloth woven into her wiry hair. As she smiled, her face folded into a mass of creases that spoke of many years of laughter. Morgana could not help but smile in return.

"You worry too much, my dear," the Great Mother chided.

"The ground is hard," Morgana replied mildly.

"And it's been my throne since your mother was a babe."

Morgana blushed, her eyes shining. Arthur looked on with sudden fondness and a renewed pang of guilt. Morgana hadn't simply fled Camelot, it seemed. She'd made a family here. She'd found a home.

"I believe this young man has earned his story," the Great Mother spoke, shuffling towards him on Morgana's arm. The warmth had fled Morgana's face; she met Arthur's gaze impassively, and her respect for her elders was the only thing that held her tongue.

Arthur shifted his focus to the Great Mother. There would be time to reconcile with Morgana later. He yearned to know what the Druids had to say.

"I'm afraid I must ask you another favor, good prince," Great Mother said as she drew near. She pitched her voice so that all assembled could hear. The crowd was absolutely silent now, eager to hang on her every word. "Would you draw your sword?"

Arthur bowed his head and opened the pouch without a word. His hand found the hilt at once and he shivered with its pleasant thrum. He lofted it high for all to see.

"How lovely," Great Mother said, as though she'd spied a sparkling trinket in a market stall. "Yes, it's lovely to see it at last. It's waited so long to find you." She dropped Morgana's arm and moved closer still. "For you to claim it as its guardian.

"You have heard some say that you and Emrys are two sides of the same coin, hm?" she went on. "Always bickering, are you? Facing opposite directions?"

Arthur smiled a bit; that was indeed a fair characterization--along with the knowledge that Merlin had always had his back. He hoped Merlin had thought the same of him.

"You were made for one another, each half to a whole. And you each have a birthright: his is his magic, and yours, this sword, is the reverse." She lifted one arm as Arthur gave a puzzled stare. " _Blostma_ ," she whispered, and a full, yellow rose unfolded in her palm. With a nudge, she floated it out into space, hovering in the air between them. "Touch it with the sword," she directed.

He brought Excalibur down and obediently touched the flower with its tip. Nothing happened--the petals sprang back as soon as he removed the blade.

"Touch it again," the Great Mother said. "But this time, you must also _feel_."

Doubtful but willing, Arthur reached out with the sword once more. He let the tip hover a hairsbreadth away from his target and closed his eyes. The thrum, the thrum, the thrum... he shifted and let the sword contact the rose. The thrum suddenly changed. No more or less pleasant, it was simply different, another kind of vibration from another kind of object.

"That, dear boy, is the magic," Great Mother broke in. "Do me a favor and shut it off?"

Arthur's eyes popped open and he rocked back in confusion. "What's that?" he asked.

"With the sword. You feel it--the magic. Scatter it. Use your intentions."

Morgana smirked and Arthur bit back a retort. His attitude towards magic may have improved, but it was paired with a growing exasperation for the mystical, cryptic showmanship that its practitioners seemed to require. Pen sensed his flash of annoyance and butted his calf with her head.

Chastened, Arthur closed his eyes and tried again. Sword out, thrum, touch the rose, thrum-thrum, _scatter_ , thrum, thrum...

He opened his eyes to see the blossom dissolve into a shower of golden sparks. No, not sparks--dust. Dust, like the motes Darius had showed him in the citadel what seemed like a lifetime ago. Arthur blinked, and the crowd around them gasped.

"Well done!" The Great Mother clasped her hands together and her daemon lifted his head from her shoulder, flicking his tongue in and out.

Arthur goggled, speechless. He licked his lips and turned to Darius, standing several feet away. "You said this blade could be used to destroy magic," he said slowly. He'd long assumed that had been a lie.

"I exaggerated a bit, to capture your attention," Darius admitted. "But yes, it can. Any spell, any enchantment, anything bound by Dust, that sword can destroy. As long as you detect it and use the strength of your intentions."

"Then why... why would you give it to me?"

"Because it is your Destiny," the Great Mother said. "You and Emrys are guardians of great powers. With your union, Albion will flourish, as will magics such as this world has never known."

Arthur's growing wonderment turned to lead in his stomach. His headache from earlier surged again to the fore. "I'm sorry," he said, dropping his arms so Excalibur dangled in the dirt. "You heard what I did. Whatever destiny I had... it's gone. Emrys is gone, and it's my fault. Right now I'm just trying to do the best that I can."

"Destiny is as mist is to water," she repeated her proclamation from earlier. Those were her final words on the subject. She turned to look up at Morgana. "Take me to my tent, now, won't you dear? I'm afraid it's gotten quite late."

Morgana obediently held out her arm and led the Great Mother away. Brecan cleared a path through the crowd before them, and as they departed, the crowd, too, began to disperse. One by one, they glanced at Arthur with thoughtful expressions as they disappeared inside their tents.

"It's an ancient sword," Darius stepped in again, conversational this time. "Its origins are lost to history. It has had other guardians as they have been needed in their times. Its form is said to change with the centuries. And it was our destiny to unite it with you."

"How can you know that?" Arthur demanded. He shoved the sword back in the pouch and yanked the drawstring closed. "Who, exactly, decides on these destinies? Was there a meeting? Did I miss the notice one day?" His blood began to roil and his cheeks heated up.

"We listen to the magics," Darius soothed. "Dust animates us, after all--with practice, you can hear it speak."

"I have no magic," Arthur gritted out. "I somehow doubt what you say is true."

"What do you think you were doing just now, then? Lad, what do you think your _daemon_ is?"

Arthur drew breath to retort but shut his mouth with a click. He snorted. Everyone knew--everyone knew that daemons--

He looked down at Pen, almost against his will. She looked back at him placidly, the delicate tufts of her ears standing at attention. The dark markings around her eyes gave her the airs of a regal woman of the court. She did not speak.

"My heart," Arthur whispered.

"Your heart," Pen agreed.

A chittering noise startled Arthur and he twisted to look down by his feet. Darius's otter stood below him, clutching a familiar oiled glass in her paws. "Look," she said, holding it out for him to take.

So he did. Grasping the glass with forefinger and thumb, he lifted it away from her, careful to avoid even a strand of her fur. Heart pounding, confused emotions crashing with a frisson of nerves, he took the glass in both hands and turned to look through it at Pen.

The golden motes he'd seen before burst aggressively into view. Pen's eyes disappeared into a sea of shimmering, vibrating light, contained in a vessel with the form of her shape. She moved, and the Dust moved too. Then Arthur saw his own fingers where they held the sides of the glass: golden clouds clung to each tip and bathed his skin in their warm, piercing glow.

He swung around, wanting to look away but desperate to see more. Particles of Dust hovered over the ground and collected in drifts against the bases of trees. He stopped when another figure came into view. Gwen! A halo of gold surrounded her, perhaps a bit sparser than Arthur's own, and there at her feet was Viro: no more than Dust clustered into the shape of a rabbit. No _less_ than Dust, either.

Gwen hovered there, uncertain of the test being applied. Arthur looked up over the glass and beckoned her to approach. She picked up Viro and moved closer.

"Look," Arthur said. He pointed the glass towards Darius.

Gwen gasped as the Dust surrounding Darius resolved into view. "Is that magic?" she asked in awe.

Her words sent a cold bolt of fear down Arthur's spine. It _was_ magic, just as Darius said. His beloved Penstemmon was formed from it. And he now had a sword whose touch could destroy it.

Darius saw him freeze and furrowed his brow in response. "Is everything alright?" he asked delicately.

"They're _magic_ ," Arthur said slowly. "And the sword--"

"Intentions!" Darius interrupted him, waving his hands. "The first time you touched the rose, it did not react. Do you recall? The rose did not dissolve until you made that your intention."

Relief drained all the fight from Arthur. He thought back to the way Pen had cowered from the sword in Gaius's workroom. His connection to Excalibur had been uncertain, then. Uncontrolled. She must have sensed its danger to her, even if she could not articulate the cause. Now, though, she was entirely safe: no force in the world could make Arthur intend her destruction. The test of their bond in the aftermath of the lake was testament enough to that.

"Is he beginning to see?" Morgana called as she strode towards them from the camp.

"I do believe he is," Darius responded, a slight smile curving his lips. "Are you ready to teach him?"

A look of surprise crossed Morgana's face. She stopped at the edge of their circle. "I thought..." she began.

"He asked you, after all," Darius said.

"But the council... Great Mother..."

"Have full faith and confidence," Darius replied.

Now Morgana looked annoyed. "Then what was all that--"

"The gathering was for our people," Darius explained. "They've lived for many years in fear. But they must grow to love their king."

This, Morgana appeared to accept. Then she briefly shrank. "If you're sure I'm ready," she said, speaking again as though imagining Arthur could not hear.

"We have _full_ faith and confidence," Darius repeated. With that he bowed, and began to back away.

The lights around them had mostly gone out. As the gathering dispersed, the Druids had snuffed their candles and extinguished their magics until only a handful remained. Shadows flickered over features as Gwen, Arthur, and Morgana paused to take stock of the moment. Gwen slipped her hand into Morgana's and squeezed.

"You've found a good home here," Arthur ventured, looking at his sister.

"I have too," Gwen said.

"Yes," Morgana agreed, squeezing Gwen's hand back. "And they all approve of you, apparently." This last was said to Arthur.

"I suppose the question now is... do you?"

Morgana tossed her hair over her shoulder with an unconcerned air. "You've done everything backwards, as usual," she replied, sighing with affected patience. "But I suppose, in the end... your heart is in the right place."

It was as sincere a compliment as he'd ever received from her. Arthur looked down, surprised by the surge of emotion rising within him. To the side, Pen and Brecan touched noses and backed away respectfully. Arthur looked up again when Gwen took his hand, linking all three of them together.

Then Morgana gave a wicked grin. "And now I'm going to kick your arse!"

* * *

After a narrow escape from an overeager scullery maid keen on starting her day early, Arthur and Pen made it back without a hitch. Arthur shut the door to his chambers and rushed over to a mirror--his hair _was_ a bit singed on the right, but he would probably be able to get away with it. He really shouldn't have maligned Morgana's aim.

Gwen had put a stop to it all before they'd gone much further, and Arthur was secretly grateful, because he'd dearly missed his bed.

"What idiot decided to train the knights at dawn this week?" Pen grumbled as she flopped on the mattress and waited for Arthur to undress.

"When you find out, I'll give him a piece of my mind," Arthur replied. Then he, too, collapsed on the bedding and soon knew no more.


	19. Chapter Seven

Walls. Citadel. Camelot.

...Arthur!

* * *

"Good morning, your highness."

No--it was far too early for this nonsense. Arthur said so.

"I am terribly sorry, my lord. It is only that you wished to train your knights at dawn, and yesterday requested to meet the stonemason _before_ breakfast."

Arthur groaned and rolled over. He stopped short of flinging a pillow in the offending voice's direction. Most servants... accepted that all too readily.

He cracked one eye. It was as dark outside as it had been when he'd lay down to sleep.

"Eugh," he said again.

"You did promise," Pen rumbled beside him.

So Arthur lobbed the pillow at her. Then he sat up and saw before him Ivan or George or Harold or whoever his servant was today. The man stood attentively with a platter in one hand and his ground squirrel daemon crouched at his feet.

Nothing for it, then. Arthur wolfed down breakfast and pulled on the simplest of his tunics before stumbling down to the courtyard to make his promised meeting. Excalibur, of course, he belted to his side. Apparently the pouch had become something of a fashion statement; in the past week, they'd appeared on several courtiers and even one of the knights.

The stonemason was waiting for him, clear-eyed in the predawn light. "If you would follow me, your highness." He bowed and began to lead the way.

The mason strode through a maze of alleyways that led around to a little-used stretch of land by the citadel's exterior wall. The area was deserted. Arthur glanced around, suspicious.

"Over here, my lord," The mason pointed to a section of wall. A few clumps of woody plants sprouted at its base. Some had sent runners climbing up the surface, clinging to the stone and unfurling new leaves. Looking closer, Arthur realized the ground around the plants was scorched and dead, and discolored splotches marred the surrounding wall.

"So what... er... seems to be the problem?" Arthur asked, peering at the plants.

"Like I said yesterday," the mason said with the barest hint of reproach. "We can't be rid of them. Shears, hatchets, fire, even lye--nothing cuts 'em back. And the ground around 'em is hard as a rock."

Arthur bit back a yawn. He'd gotten dragged out of bed for this? Some particularly hardy plants?

"As you know, my lord, climbing vines damage the stone and weaken our defenses," the mason continued with forced neutrality.

Ugh. He might as well take care of them and get it over with.

"Turn around," Arthur said.

"...my lord?"

"Your back, please," Arthur insisted. He shot a look towards Pen to have her monitor the man's daemon. Reaching into his pouch, Arthur swiftly retrieved Excalibur. If this couldn't deal with a weed, nothing would.

The sword made a clinking sound as he removed it. The oil-glass--he'd forgotten to return it before Darius had left for the evening. He'd have to be careful with the pouch.

After double-checking that the mason had turned away, Arthur approached the wall and grabbed one vine with his hand. It was indeed stuck fast. He brought his sword around with his other arm to lop off a protruding tendril.

The sword met the wall and nothing happened. The vine held fast. But Arthur felt a jolt -- a frisson -- a thrum --

The vine was _magic_. That woke Arthur right up. His new attitudes towards practitioners aside, he doubted this was some innocent herb garden. He'd have to bring it to Gaius. But first, he needed to get it off the wall.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his intentions and told Excalibur to cut.

Arthur's next stroke cleaved the vine like butter. Almost immediately, the ground rumbled beneath his feet.

The mason turned around. "My lord?" he asked, then stumbled back with a gasp.

The stump of the vine was suddenly glowing green. A new shoot emerged and slithered up the wall defiantly.

Right. He'd only intended to cut. That wasn't enough. Arthur struck at the plant again, this time meaning _destroy_.

The plant withered at Excalibur's touch and crumbled into dust upon the ground. Arthur grinned, satisfied, until the rumble started up again and a clump of thick, woody tendrils erupted from the earth.

Arthur struck again--end! destroy!--and the magic retaliated, sending up new shoots and adding more to their flanks. They swelled and grew, up and out, until the central vines surpassed Arthur's height. He struck at those, too, but new vines replaced them in moments.

"You're only making it worse!" Pen cautioned.

"Do you think I don't realize that?" Arthur snapped. He stepped away from the wall but the vines continued to pulse and grow.

"We need help," Pen said meaningfully.

"Gaius is--"

"No, we need _help_ ," Pen interrupted. The vines were now halfway up the wall. "Gaius can find her. The necklace."

Arthur's hand went instinctively to his collar. He froze; his neck was bare. "It's in my chambers!" he realized. Pen bounded off and Arthur followed close behind, leaving a trembling, gawping stonemason behind them.

As they navigated back to the citadel, they saw new bursts of vine emerging all along the castle walls. Arthur's heart sank. He'd provoked it, whatever _it_ was--and he only hoped he would have enough time. 

He clattered through the corridors with sword in hand, startling the servants accustomed to a quiet morning hush. Arthur barged through his door and cast about for the necklace. He'd taken it off last night, and--there! On the table over there!

As he dove for the necklace, a flicker of motion caught his eye. Arthur paused, craning his neck. It was... the bowl? The magical artifact--the alethiometer, Gaius had called it. There was something in the water inside. Wary, Arthur moved in for a closer look. The water appeared smoky, like the crystal Morgana had used in her tent. But there, within... was that a face?

The face resolved and it stopped Arthur cold. Dark hair lay limply over a pale, anguished face. Blue eyes were wide with terror. A wide mouth shouted soundlessly into a void.

"Merlin!" Arthur choked, grasping the bowl with both hands.

"What?" Pen leapt onto the table. "Gods!" she breathed, leaning in until her nose nearly brushed the water's surface.

"I knew it," Arthur said. "I knew it."

"He looks trapped," Pen went on. "Where is he?"

Arthur peered at the edges of the image, looking around for clues. But there was nothing but the swirling mist, and Merlin's face, and gold. Arthur realized suddenly that Merlin was shouting his name.

"I see you!" he called, gripping the bowl more tightly. "We see you! We're here! _Mer_ lin!" He wanted to reach down and haul Merlin out by his collar. He wished he could dive into the waters and pull Merlin up into the air. How long had he been trapped like this? How long had Arthur not _seen_?

"Gaius," Pen said.

Arthur snatched up Morgana's necklace and shoved Excalibur back in its pouch. He grabbed a tunic from the cupboard and threw it over the alethiometer, feeling a pang as it blanketed Merlin's face. He picked it up, careful not to spill, and began making his way towards Gaius's rooms.

The servants who had seen him dash by before gave quizzical glances as he passed them smoothly with cloth-draped hands. Then the warning bell began to toll.

"The vines," Pen said. "They've been noticed."

"Quickly, then," Arthur agreed.

Gaius was in his nightclothes when he answered the door. He'd been awaked by the sound of the bell.

"Your Highness?" he asked, ushering Arthur inside.

"We're under magical attack," Arthur said. "Vines are climbing the castle walls. I fought with them. And then I found... this." He set the alethiometer on Gaius's worktable and whipped the covering away.

All the blood drained from Gaius's face. "Merlin!" he trembled. "My boy!" Avia crawled out from his sleeve to get a closer look, flicking her tongue in distress.

"We've got to contact Morgana." Arthur broke into Gaius's shock. "Pen thinks she can do something. Will you help?"

"If... if I'd known--" Gaius couldn't tear his gaze away. In the water, Merlin's image continued to shout.

"Is there a way to use the crystal?" Arthur shoved the necklace in Gaius's face. "She gave this to me so she could speak to my mind. Is there a way to make it talk back?"

Gaius snapped up and looked Arthur in the eye. "I can only try," he said gravely, taking the pendant from Arthur's hand.

He placed the cord around Arthur's neck but kept the crystal in his palm. Closing his eyes, he frowned in concentration for several long moments. Arthur held his breath. He shifted his weight, stealing glances at the image of Merlin as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

_Hold on_ , he thought. _I'm so sorry._

Then Gaius drew a sharp breath. "Ah! Tíegan!" He called out with thundering authority, dropping the pendant against Arthur's chest.

The crystal glowed and a wave of dizziness made Arthur stumble backwards.

"Speak," Gaius insisted.

Arthur reached down to grasp Pen's ruff for good measure. He placed his other hand over the crystal. 

<Morgana?> he called in his mind.

A burst of astonishment answered his call. <Arthur?> came Morgana's incredulous tone.

<We need your help,> Arthur got straight to the point. <Camelot is being attacked, and-->

<I don't know how you did this--> Morgana interrupted. <Ah. Gaius.> A fresh wave of irritation rolled across their connection. <I agreed to teach you, Arthur,> she snapped. <I did not agree to become your personal problem solver.>

<But you-->

<But nothing! If you think I'll lift a finger while Uther is still-->

<It's Merlin!> Arthur shouted. He dug his nails into his palms.

<Merlin is attacking Camelot?> Morgana asked incredulously.

<No!> Arthur shouted again. <Camelot is under attack _and_ I've found Merlin. Look around. He's trapped inside a magic bowl. >

<Goddesses,> Morgana swore a moment later.

<Uther doesn't deserve you,> Arthur said. <But the people of Camelot shouldn't have to suffer. If our walls collapse we can no longer protect them. Help us. Help us rescue Merlin, at least.>

Morgana's silence stretched on and on.

<I know you have a new family there,> Arthur continued, faltering. <But I will always be your brother and I hope, one day, Camelot can be a home again for you, too.>

<Oh, enough,> Morgana replied. <I was scrying to see whether the kitchens were clear. There are loads of people. Meet me at the cupboard in five minutes.>

Morgana released the connection and Arthur's head throbbed with a vengeance. He dropped the crystal and flexed his fingers vigorously.

"What did she say?" Gaius asked hopefully.

"Kitchen. Five minutes."

Gaius grabbed a cloak to go over his nightshirt as they all rushed towards the door. Arthur flung the covering over the alethiometer and took it up once more.

Now everyone was out in the corridors, reacting to the tolling of the bell. Two guards and a knight saw Arthur rushing by and ran to join him, awaiting orders.

Damn. "Go, get the people away from the vines," he shouted over his shoulder. "Check the lower town!"

"Yes, sir!" the guards shouted, stumbling off without any idea of what Arthur actually meant.

The kitchens were bustling with servants who had been up and working before even Arthur had started his day. The warning bells had them all in an uproar. Some perseverated with cooking tools while others flitted back and forth, clamoring with questions and fear.

"What is--"

"Where should we--"

"Is it--"

"The prince!"

The last shout turned all eyes to Arthur, who clenched his jaw in irritation. "To the courtyard," he said, improvising. "You're safest away from the walls."

A rising cacophony of distress filled the room as the servants pushed by, fleeing as directed. Arthur held fast against the flow, stepping forward until the way was clear and he could break for the cupboard space. Gaius was right at his side.

And not a moment too soon. Shafts of light emitted from the edges of the cupboard with the sticky door. Gaius yanked the handle just as Morgana materialized in the archway. She stepped out with Brecan and Gwen and Viro came right behind.

"Where's Merlin?" Morgana demanded immediately.

Arthur's tactics shouted for him to tackle the vines, but his heart ripped the cover off the alethiometer without hesitation. Merlin's face shone up at them, dazed. His screaming had stopped.

"Well," Morgana said, peering down at the bowl. "This is unexpected."

Arthur frowned. Morgana enjoyed a wry understatement, certainly, but the press of her lips and Gwen's solemn stare made him think there was more to this story.

"What haven't you told me?" he demanded.

For the briefest of moments, Morgana looked almost contrite. "Merlin isn't dead," she admitted.

"Yes, I see--"

"No, I mean I've known for some time."

"What?" Pen snarled. Her eyes glinted and her hair stood on end. Arthur nearly dropped the alethiometer. Morgana took it gently from his hands; he was too shocked to resist.

"Gaius, what do you know of the legend of Emrys?" Morgana asked, keeping her gaze on the bowl.

"Only a little," Gaius answered. "Not much more than Merlin knew himself. It was Emrys's destiny to serve Arthur, the Once and Future King. Together, they would unite Albion and magic would return to the world."

"Did you ever wonder where the legend came from?" Morgana's tone was nonchalant.

"From time immemorial, I'm sure--from the age when the Great Dragon was young," Gaius blustered.

"It came from magic itself," Morgana explained. "It speaks, to those who can listen. And for many years it has spoken to the Druids and dragons and other magical creatures of the world and told them all about the coming of Emrys and the Once and Future King." The torchlight flickering across Morgana's face made her expression difficult to decipher.

"Arthur, it is your destiny to live more than one lifetime," Morgana said. She raised her head and looked him directly in the eye. "You will live out your days until you meet your death. But you will rise again in the future when Albion's need is greatest."

He could scarcely follow what she was saying. She was speaking like a mystic--like an oracle--

"Emrys is magic's gift to you and your people. He is formed from magic itself to be by your side now and when you come again. He cannot die as you can, because he is not mortal," Morgana said slowly.

"Then where is he?" Arthur pleaded.

"I don't know," Morgana said, looking back down at the bowl. "Ever since... your adventure... magic's voice has been difficult to understand. It's fractured. Contradictory. One part is content to blow among the leaves, another speaks of Albion, and others... others of destruction. That is why the Druid council has been so divided. There is no telling what magic's intentions are now."

"And what does this have to do with Merlin?" Arthur clenched his fists.

"His body has gone. Most believe he is simply incorporeal. But some fear that without his human form, he could dissociate and become lost. He might not remember himself."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Now Arthur began to shout. He advanced on her but she did not shrink away.

"Because no one knows what to do!" she snapped back. "And you're not exactly at your best when faced with open-ended questions."

A fresh clanging from the warning bell cut off Arthur's response. He bit his tongue and stifled a growl. The air in the storage corridor felt close and stifling and it fed his maddening headache. He stood his ground. He was within an arm's reach of Morgana; Gwen hovered close at her back. Brecan sat before them both, watching Pen's twitches warily. Gaius, wrongfooted and unaccustomed to being so, stood rigidly to one side.

"He was shouting my name before. And that's his face in the water," Arthur said stiffly as the bell died away. "So he hasn't disappeared, and we can get him back."

"The first part is true," Gwen piped up, restraining Morgana with the touch of a palm. "But beyond that... things might not be quite that simple."

"Use me!" Arthur said. He threw his arms wide. "We're connected. Two sides of a coin. And he healed me--practically remade me. That's got to count for something. Use me to call him back."

Morgana looked at him doubtfully. "That's not how magic--"

"His suggestion does have a poetic simplicity to it, don't you think?" Gaius interrupted.

Morgana scowled. "And what would you know about it?"

"You think magic must be unlocked by spells. I'm sure of it; all the Druids do. I imagine that you were about to tell Arthur that there is no teaching for this sort of thing." Gaius was regaining a clarity of purpose. "But you can access more than your teachers showed you, Morgana. And you don't know Merlin and his magic."

"And whose fault is that," she muttered.

Gaius continued as if he'd heard nothing. "Merlin is instinctual. Spells were always a trivial formality for him. If he is lost, as you say, we should light his path home and he will find his way."

"What do you--"

" _Look_ at him, Morgana!" Gaius urged. "Use the same mind you use with your crystal. What do you see?"

Look at Merlin, or Arthur? Gaius didn't say.

"And you know what's best, of course. What's best for all of us," Morgana sneered.

Avia hissed and Gaius raised his eyebrows in affront. He held up one pointed finger and opened his mouth to reply, but instead of firing back he suddenly deflated. "I know a great many things," he said after a moment. "Perhaps the most important is the knowledge that I am often wrong, even when I act in the way I think is right. I don't know what to do, Morgana. But I think this is worth a try."

Gaius's words did little to mollify Morgana at first. Then Brecan raised his eyes to hers and she heaved a resigned sigh.

"If it pleases Your Highness," she said with a mock curtsey in Arthur's direction. He quickly nodded his assent.

Morgana moved forward so she and Arthur could hold the alethiometer between them. Arthur closed his eyes. Morgana frowned, concentrating first on the water and then on Arthur's bowed head. She flicked her gaze back and forth. A wrinkle of frustration crept across her brow.

Gwen stepped directly behind her and encircled her waist. She rested her chin softly on Morgana's shoulder. "Relax," she whispered, squeezing her middle. "Remember, you told me you need to relax."

And so Morgana did, fraction by fraction, leaning subtly into Gwen's arms as she cleared her mind again. Arthur. Merlin. Arthur. Merlin. _Look._

Arthur suddenly sensed a space bubbling up inside his own head. His crown expanded until he felt immensely tall and light. The crystal around his neck felt warm against his chest. He could see the space opening inside him, first a formless void and then a cavernous chamber illuminated by gathering drifts of golden Dust. Everything was silent. He looked round and round and realized after a moment that the Dust's breezy movements were not entirely random: in fits and starts and wandering circuits it was forming itself into a line. A line that led off into the blackness beyond.

He took a step--for he could move, or some part of him anyway, inside this place--but started when he realized Pen was not beside him. And when he realized _he_ was not formed--no nose in his visual periphery, no hands to raise or examine--he stopped dead, panicked.

What was this? Where was he? What was he? How--

"Arthur."

The booming sound of his father's disapproval jolted Arthur from his trance. Uther stood in the kitchen looking out at their little group, two guards close at his heels. Saja stood before him, ready to charge at a moment's notice. Uther held a sword in his hand.

Arthur blinked. The absurdity of seeing his father here, just left of a hanging braid of garlic with dirty pots abandoned on the bench at his back, drove all speech from his mind. Uther wore a cloak over nightclothes; his crown rested on his head but his feet were bare.

"What did you do to him?" Uther thundered at Morgana. She had shifted to the balls of her feet, vibrating back and forth as though she could not decide whether to dash towards or away.

"Nothing!" Arthur lurched into motion, holding one hand up to stop them both. "Morgana is here at my invitation," he said. "She has done nothing that I haven't requested."

"She was using magic," Uther accused, drawing his brows together. "She has bewitched you. Gaius, surely you are here to stop her?"

"Your Majesty," Gaius bowed carefully. "I'm afraid I cannot say that I am."

"What is the meaning of this?" Uther drew himself up and his sword twitched in his hand.

"Why did you come here?" Arthur countered, still off-balance from his abrupt return to the stone-clad world.

"You deserted your post. Servants saw you running through the halls. The kitchen staff reported you'd ordered them to leave," Uther said. He shifted his gaze from Arthur to Morgana to Gaius to Gwen, transferring his weight warily to guard against a strike. "Speak, now! There is no time. Are you orchestrating this attack?"

"Of course not, Father," Arthur responded. "I asked Morgana to come help us repel it."

"Though not in any way for your benefit," Morgana sniped. "Father dearest."

Uther's features turned puce. "You... you traitor!" he growled, lunging forward with his blade raised. His eyes were fixed on Gaius. Saja snorted and advanced to cover the flank opposite his sword arm.

Arthur spun, pushing the alethiometer into Morgana's arms and drawing Excalibur from his pouch. "No," he said forcefully, holding it across his body. "Father, stop."

"That sword--" Uther froze. "You... _magic_?" His face curdled. Arthur had weathered many expressions of his father's disappointment, but now for the first time he bore his father's disgust.

"I know everything," Arthur said baldly. "About how I was born. About Nimueh. I've met the Great Dragon and I've visited the Druids. I lied about my quest: it succeeded. This _is_ the sword the scholar spoke of. But it's not meant to destroy all magic--it's meant to balance it. And I am its guardian."

"You've been tricked," Uther snarled. "All magic does is deceive and destroy. It's attacking us as we speak--have you learned nothing I've taught you?"

"The vines are your just desserts," Morgana cut in, leaning past Arthur's shoulder. Brecan stalked into the space beyond them and ignored Pen's hiss to stay back. "They are magic's retribution for slaughtering her people. They will only be stopped if they are brought into balance." The last she muttered for Arthur's ears only.

"Magic is not an enemy," Arthur pleaded. "It's everywhere. It's in all of us." A sudden clarity of thought overtook him. "I'll show you--look!" He plunged his free hand awkwardly into his pouch and withdrew Darius's oil-glass. It was streaked and dirty but Dust's golden motes were still easily revealed. He held it up for his father to see. "You remember this, how it shows magic?" He lowered it until it hovered between Uther's sightline and Pen's figure, knowing Uther would see how she became illuminated. Pen sat regally for the display.

Uther recoiled. The guards standing timidly behind him fumbled so they, too, could see, though they were puzzled by their king's horrified response.

"They're all like that," Arthur said gently. "That's what daemons _are_ , Father. It's us--they are us." He stepped forward slowly and extended the glass. "See for yourself," he offered.

Uther lowered his sword. His face became a mask. Even in his nightclothes he appeared more monarchical than Arthur ever believed he could be--commanding, hard, terrifying. Still Arthur stood his ground, waiting, breathing slowly through his nose and holding back the energy of the group behind him. At last, Uther shifted. Sword down, he walked deliberately forward. This time, Saja did not follow.

"Uther," she said firmly. He ignored her.

Brecan bit back a growl but moved to let Uther pass by. At last, he reached out to snatch the oilglass from Arthur's hand. He turned away to scrutinize his own Saja through the window.

His reaction made Saja scream--"Uther!"--just as Arthur doubled over from his father's elbow ramming into his gut. He wheezed and clutched at his stomach with both arms, realizing then that Uther had dropped his own sword and taken Excalibur up in its stead. Arthur straightened in time to see Morgana thrust her palm forward, opening her mouth to cast a spell.

"Stop!" he shouted, knocking her arm away.

In the time it took to deflect Morgana's strike and steady the wobbling alethiometer, Uther had raised Excalibur high above his head.

He roared. "The end of magic begins with me!" He charged forward as Saja squealed and cowered until Uther's sword thrust pierced her side.

Excalibur clattered to the ground. Near the entryway, one of the guards crouched down to throw up. A cacophony of distress erupted from the daemons; Pen crowded Arthur's side and turned her face away. Only Gaius took action. His whisper of "Uther," full of pain and regret, cut through the tableau as he ran to his king's side.

Uther had collapsed in front of Saja, who had fallen on her side and appeared to breathe no more. Uther's crown had rolled into a dusting of spilt flour near the oilglass, which had shattered decisively into a hundred pieces. The pale, wrinkled soles of Uther's feet faced heavenwards as he lay like a rag doll upon the floor.

All the air left Arthur's lungs. No... how... his father...

"They live," Gaius proclaimed, palpating Uther's throat while Avia sniffed at Saja. Saja released a weak groan of pain. "Guards, to my chambers. Help me!" Gaius commanded, rolling Uther over to better grip his shoulders. The guards flashed nervous glances at Arthur as they came forward to comply.

Gwen darted to Gaius's side. "I'll assist," she offered, knowing Gaius would want water boiled and herbs ground and linens washed.

My father killed hers, Arthur remembered suddenly. And yet, if she could help it, she did not want Uther to die.

Gwen turned back to face Morgana. Viro sat up tall at her side. "Go on and save Camelot," she proclaimed. The puckering of her brow belied her nervous, pretty smile. "And bring Merlin home," she added. She steadied. She drew close to Morgana once more. "I believe in you," she whispered, leaning in to cover Morgana's lips with a kiss.

Morgana unfroze, pressing back with shuttered eyes for a heartbeat before drawing reluctantly away. The alethiometer made an awkward obstacle between them. "I know, " she said softly. For a moment, they were the only ones in the room.

"We'll take care of your father, Arthur," Gwen said, breaking the spell. "It will be all right. Go. Go!"

Morgana and Arthur looked dubiously at one another before pushing by the guards to exit the rooms. Arthur clenched his jaw. He must leave the scene behind him--close the door for now. His father would live or he would die. Before that, they had responsibilities to see to, starting with a certain wayward manservant.

Excalibur felt warm in his hand as he led the way up the stairs. It had not liked doing someone else's bidding. Arthur would have to take better care in the future.

Pen bumped his knee as they walked forward together and Arthur leaned down to brush his hand over her head. No, they would not dwell on what had happened just now.

Morgana remained oddly silent until Arthur's footsteps faltered.

"Well, where are we going?" she prompted bluntly. Her stoicism was shattered by the trembling of her lips.

"I don't know," Arthur said back. "I suppose we... should go outside?"

Brecan snorted. "We should go someplace quiet," Morgana countered. "Gaius's suggestion was working. We should try again."

"Then outside," Arthur repeated. "To the forest. We'll leave through the side door."

And they moved firmly together, leaving their unconscious father behind them.


	20. Chapter Eight

"What is this bowl, exactly?" Morgana asked as they wove through the trees.

The clarity of Merlin's image had waxed and waned as they'd worked their way out of the citadel; at present, he was obscured by a light haze. Arthur tried not to think about what that might mean.

"It's called an alethiometer. Gaius said it's supposed to tell the truth," Arthur said. "He didn't know how to work it, though. Apparently Merlin was trying to figure it out."

They had exited the citadel and miraculously avoided anyone else along the way. The castle's corridors had been deserted and the growing throngs of distressed townspeople were congregating near the gate. Arthur and Morgana could hear their din faintly--chattering and scuffing, lowing from the livestock, a single, vocal rooster's crow, a scream--and it took all of Arthur's strength to remind himself that he was not running away. His people would survive. He had to rescue Merlin.

Merlin. Gods. As the morning's panic subsided and he had the chance to clear his head, Arthur worked to grasp the situation before him. He'd tried to take Gaius's advice to heart all those weeks ago and convince himself that Merlin wasn't coming back. His loss had become a steady drumbeat: gone, gone, gone. It had filled his heart and propelled his steps forward like a soldier on campaign. Gone. Do right by Hunith. Gone. Find Morgana. Gone. Do right by his memory or Arthur's own life would be worth nothing at all.

But now he thought of the primroses by the woodpile and the playful leaves on the road. That had been Merlin, he was sure of it. Why had he not tried again? Did he think Arthur had given up? Ignored him? Abandoned him?

And now the thought that he might be about to get Merlin back... Arthur's stomach was in knots. What if Merlin was trapped forever? What if he was fading away, as Morgana feared?

"Stop," Morgana said. Arthur wasn't sure if she meant the thinking or the walking or both.

"No point in delaying," Arthur agreed. He turned to his sister and held out his arms. "Shall we?"

To his surprise, a soft tug on his trousers gave him pause. Pen looked up at him balefully.

"I can't follow where you're going," she said, gamely lifting her chin. "But I'll be here when you get back."

A rush of love brought Arthur to his knees and he pressed her body to his chest. He soaked in her solid strength and reveled in her presence.

"My heart," he murmured. Then Morgana echoed the same, cradling Brecan's head in her hands.

They stood slowly, lingering, but both filled with the purpose of their journey. They would find Merlin and bring him home.

Morgana held the alethiometer out to Arthur. The light, fully day now, dappled her face through the trees and her hair hung wild behind her. Arthur matched her solemnity when grasping the bowl and peering to look within. Almost all mist now, with just the silhouette of what they sought.

Morgana took a breath and began again the gentle flickering of her focus. Merlin. Arthur. Merlin Arth--

He was back in the black space in no time at all. The helpful golden motes had drifted apart somewhat, but upon Arthur's return they readily organized again. Their signal was strong and Arthur knew he must follow. He took his first steps towards the void.

* * *

It was not going to stop. Never, never--the raging gusts of magic's power buffeted him right and left. He'd ceased screaming long ago. He clung to the flat edge of a buried stone. When he'd first found the growing and the power, it had been moving at no more than a steady trickle, but before too long something had angered it. Something had woken it up. The power thundering by him now would rip him to shreds before long but he just... couldn't... move...

Then the tumult lessened, just in one little spot. To the side, a calming. He retreated towards it. The space grew by fractions and, blindly, he followed, fleeing the pummeling storm to find refuge in this miraculously calm space.

But the space did not end. It wasn't a pocket; it was a tunnel. He was nothing, nothing, but he would be drawn along. He would creep forward to get away, away, away from the anger and the hurt.

He left the rock behind--he had no need of it. Soon the soil fell away too, stuck to the pulsing rootlets. And as he traveled on he shrugged off the world itself and melted into a deep, black void of stillness. There before him lay a golden path.

_Come_ , it said. Follow.

The words were like a memory that tugged him on. He let it, gladly. Quickly he moved as the tug became a grasp and a _pull_ and suddenly he blinked in the light.

A golden man hovered above him. Tousled fringe and blue eyes. His own chest--his _chest!_ \--felt a weight, and when he looked down he saw the tawny spotted head of a lynx with a frightened face.

He gasped; the world swam. He cried out and heard an answering screech. Rolling sideways, he saw a tree cleaved by a shining sword, and out of the wound burst a long-eared owl that fluttered to the ground.

<My heart,> it called.

<Archimedes,> he answered.

<Emrys,> said a third voice. A woman's. <Emrys, have you returned?>

"Yes," he whispered aloud, and sat up into the fierce embrace of his king.

* * *

Arthur held him so he would not disappear. He breathed in his hair and crushed the cage of his bones. Pen rubbed up against them both and Archimedes alighted on their shoulders with a long, keening cry. Bells, bells, bells, and all was right with the whole.

"Merlin," he sighed.

"Arthur," Merlin croaked. He cleared his throat. "D'you need your boots polished _that_ badly?"

His flimsy bit of wit made Arthur erupt with laughter. His doubts were gone--this _was_ his man. The pliant, wide-eyed doppelgänger he'd pulled from the tree he had split was no more. Morgana had not simply made a body: Merlin's soul had truly come home. Archimedes was a testament to that.

"You're always so keen on it," he chuckled into Merlin's neck. "But another one of your chores needs doing first."

"Which one?" Merlin asked, stronger now. His grip tightened on Arthur's back.

"Camelot needs saving," Arthur smiled. "Then you can get to the boots."

"Better get started then," Merlin replied. He pulled back and looked up, rubbing the side of his face against his daemon's feathery belly. "Hello, you," he whispered. Archimedes preened Merlin's hair in response.

Arthur fought the need to lean in again. He wanted to possess Merlin deeply, entirely, wholly. But he hesitated--he had no sense of Merlin's mind now, and his sister's sharp gaze was cutting ever deeper into his back. They would have to have a conversation and it would have to wait.

He disentangled himself and helped Merlin get to his feet. Merlin blanched when he recognized his nakedness but Morgana was there with her outer cloak, wrapping him in the rough homespun. Arc adjusted obligingly.

"I always wondered about that beetle of yours," Morgana said, eyeing Arc appraisingly. Arc fluffed his feathers in response.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," Merlin said sincerely. "I never told _anyone_. My mum knew when I was a baby and she sent me to Gaius."

"If we start apologizing we'll be here all day," Morgana quipped. "Come on, _Emrys_. Let's see what you've got."

Merlin wobbled when they turned to go. Arthur grabbed his arm and refused to release it for the whole journey towards home.

* * *

In the end, it seemed to take only moments. The castle was covered in greenery by the time they returned and the walls by the main gates had crumbled as though they had weathered a thousand years. Crowds of panicked people were wavering at the edge of the outside wood. Arthur's knights, in twos and threes, were trying ineffectually to organize and reassure. Leon was there; his eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of Arthur's entourage and he called the other knights to attention.

The crowds startled as Arthur pushed through with Uther's lost ward and his own late manservant in tow. His dazzling sword glittered in the sun.

Merlin stopped a short distance from the castle. He took it all in with a slack-jawed expression; standing there in his borrowed cloak, he looked like an idiot urchin. The bright light of the sun made him squint.

He shrugged off Arthur's grip apologetically and held out his arm. Arc swooped in from the trees, drawing gasps from the townspeople, and alighted smoothly on Merlin's offered perch. Then Merlin closed his eyes.

He raised his other hand, palm out, and frowned. Before them, time seemed to run in reverse. The vines' searching tendrils curled and diminished. Leaves shrank and folded until they disappeared into retracting stems; creeping feet detached and fell away. At the same time chips and bits and ground dust that had crumbled from the walls rolled over and up to slot back into place, reforming the stone blocks that Camelot had raised for her defense. The entire process was eerily silent.

Merlin hummed. A light wind whipped up as the last vines melted away and he smiled as it played across his face. Arc turned his head to preen a ruffled feather.

Then Merlin opened his eyes and with his one outstretched hand, he _pulled_. A cloud of golden Dust shimmered in the air before him and resolved into a woody, gnarled root, longer than a man is tall.

"Arthur," Merlin called. "You should probably do this part."

He meant the sword. Arthur approached, and Pen sniffed at the root from a distance.

"I need to think the right thing when I use it, otherwise it doesn't work," Arthur said softly.

"Hm," Merlin pondered, turning his head to confer with Arc. He smiled again. "'Release' should do it, I would think," he offered.

Alright then. Arthur brought Excalibur around to give the root a swift, short jab with the thought of _release_.

The crackle of splintering wood was accompanied by a wave of energy pulsing out into the world. Arthur could imagine the way invisible bits of Dust were gyrating about in the magical flow as its energies rushed to equilibrium once more.

"And for good measure..." Merlin began playfully. He levitated the split root higher and higher as he called out in a guttural voice: " _O Drakon, i mala_ \--!"

There were wingbeats high above, and then Kilgharrah appeared overhead to shoot flame at the broken reservoir until it was no more.


	21. Chapter Nine

The castle and town were put to rights, but a new kind of chaos emerged: townspeople frightened by the magic, by the dragon, by the rumors that the king lay dying in the court physician's chambers. Arthur threw himself into damage control, rallying the knights and meeting with council members and walking the streets of the lower town to assure everyone that all was well.

Morgana wisely made a temporary exit, but the blasted dragon settled in to watch. He'd made himself quite comfortable only a stone's throw from the main castle gates.

Through it all, Merlin was frustratingly scarce. After a tense walk back to the castle, he'd mumbled something about finding Gaius and slipped away. He popped up every now and again under the guise of some trivial serving duty, but when Arthur turned around, he was gone. Once, Arthur looked up and saw Archimedes on a rampart, watching him as he made his way through the streets.

Arthur retired to his chambers as early as he’d dared. If Merlin was skittish in public, if he preferred to act the manservant, then Arthur would wait for him in private.

But Merlin never came.

Arthur sat up all night.

He thought of his father. Excalibur had not ended Saja; Uther's intentions had caused the sword to sever their bond. Arthur knew well what that meant. In another lifetime he might be holding vigil at his father's bedside, but to Arthur, Uther was already dead. A storm of emotion crackled in the distant reaches of Arthur's mind, thundering with the collisions between Uther's past as father and king and man. Soon, that storm would move in, and Arthur would weather it when the time came.

This night, though, found Arthur facing into the winds of change. He would likely be king by morning. What kind of dawn did he want to see?

* * *

The door to Arthur’s chambers swung open on silent hinges. Arthur looked up from his seat to see Merlin step inside.

“Sorry I don’t have your breakfast,” Merlin said. “Only… I think the kitchen staff are afraid of me now? I thought I should give them some… space.”

Merlin stood at a sloppy sort of attention with his hands behind his back. Morgana’s cloak was gone and in its place were his old familiar clothes: blue shirt, brown jacket, and ever-present neckerchief. Arthur's heart soared above the tangle of thoughts in his head.

“Where’s Arc?” he asked.

“On his way.” Merlin took this as his cue to cross to the window and open a pane. He stepped back as Arc slipped neatly inside. Arc looked around avidly, taking in Arthur's chambers for the first time.

“We didn’t want to upset the people in the corridors,” Merlin explained.

“I think seeing you with no daemon at all probably had the same effect,” Arthur commented mildly.

“Oh.” Merlin wrinkled his brow and looked to Arc, who had perched on another chair at Arthur’s table. “We hadn’t thought of that.” Arc flexed one wing; he, in fact, had.

“They’ll just have to get used to it,” Arthur said. He sat back and Pen hummed approvingly. Merlin rewarded him with a shy smile. A moment passed.

“Arthur--”

“Merlin--”

They stumbled as they spoke over one another and Merlin shifted awkwardly. Arthur gestured for him to continue.

“Arthur,” Merlin began again. He paused. “Your father is dead.” He stepped closer to the table and brought his hands to rest on the back of the chair opposite Arc, who looked to Arthur with a questioning eye.

“I see,” Arthur said, and meant it.

Merlin gaped for a brief moment, not understanding Arthur's equanimity. “I--I talked to Morgana, the Druids, even Kilgharrah… none of their ideas worked,” he went on apologetically.

Now Arthur sat up. “You asked their help? For my _father_?” he asked incredulously.

“For you,” Merlin corrected. “It’s… never easy, when a parent dies.”

_Is there nothing he would not do for me?_ Arthur wondered. He averted his eyes and swallowed, working to maintain his composure.

“And you couldn’t…?” He wiggled his fingers to finish the question.

“No,” Merlin said. “I can’t undo what Excalibur does. And even magic can’t restore life without… a price.” He fidgeted a bit with the chair.

“And what was _your_ price?” Arthur asked, still looking down at his hands. He traced the smooth grain of the tabletop with one finger. “I didn’t stop to think, in the moment. Did we… your mother…”

“Is fine,” Merlin said firmly. "Morgana didn't bring me back to life; I was never dead. Just, er, _incorporeal_. And anyway, I visited my mum yesterday, or Arc did, and she told me to smack you for being sneaky with your gold."

Arthur barked a short laugh but still did not lift his head.

Merlin grimaced. "I know this is all very... strange," he continued. "To be able to... trust someone who isn't human--"

"You idiot." Now Arthur did look up in exasperation. "How can you possibly think that is an issue right now?"

"Hang on, are you still in your clothes from yesterday?" Merlin jumped headlong into a different thought, at last taking in Arthur's rumpled appearance and the shadows on his face.

"I was waiting up for you," Arthur said simply.

Merlin's eyes grew as round as Archimedes's. "But your father--"

"You were trying to fix everything for me, weren't you?" Arthur cut him off. "In secret. Like you always do."

"Well I--" Merlin bit his lip. "Yes. I... yes," he agreed.

His painfully pure intentions were caught up in his anxious expression. His red lip and flushed ears brought a pang to Arthur's chest.

"You're going to stop," Arthur announced. He stood swiftly to catch Merlin's arm as he began to pull back in protest. "You can't do that anymore."

"But I--"

"Merlin," Arthur intoned. He drew Merlin closer and relaxed his grip enough to swipe his thumb over Merlin's forearm. Merlin stood as stiff as a startled deer. "When we leave this room, we are going to convene the council to announce the death of the king. You will be with me. And Arc will be with you." He paused briefly, raising his eyebrows and waiting for Merlin to remember to breathe. "And then they will make _me_ king. Do you know what that will make you?"

Merlin wrinkled his forehead. "The king's... manservant?" he guessed slowly, a guarded look in his eyes.

"No," Arthur said, pulling Merlin closer still. He leaned in until their foreheads touched and he could feel the tickle of Merlin's breath on his face. "I don't need a manservant. Or a sorcerer. Or a destiny," he continued with the trace of a smile. He brought his other hand up to grip Merlin's waist. "But I do need you," he finished. "If you'll have me."

"For what?" Merlin asked in a cracking voice. "Why?"

His body seemed so slight. Arthur marveled that it contained the great strength of his heart.

Now Arthur stroked Merlin's side and shifted just enough to drop a soft peck on his cheek. Merlin smelled warm and heady. "As my partner," he murmured. "My partner in Camelot's rule and in all other things. Because I love you." His voice was firm.

"Oh--" Merlin gasped, and a frisson of energy shivered through their bodies as Merlin surrendered fully into Arthur's embrace. "Oh, yes, Arthur--always. Yes."

On the rug nearby, Archimedes pressed against Penstemmon's soft breast. She nuzzled his head as Merlin and Arthur twined closer together in the depths of a fervent and solemn kiss.


	22. EPILOGUE

_Dear Merlin,_

_The road was easy. Not a single bandit. I think the escort Arthur insisted on was honestly bored._

_The castle here is a sight! It's a beautiful thing with great turrets on a promontory that juts out into the sea. It has no fortifications. Imagine! I doubt, of course, that the Priestesses require stone walls to keep men at bay._

_They have been very kind so far. Morgause met us when we arrived. Her hair is as fair as Morgana's is dark. She's a bit taller, with hazel eyes, and her daemon Kiriel is a lovely white egret._

_We are settling in nicely. I think our time here will be well spent. I'll write when I can--and I expect you to write back!_

_Love,_

_Gwen_

Gwen blotted the letter before rolling it up to affix it to Clarence, the raven messenger waiting patiently on the sill. Morgana had already contacted Camelot, of course, but that didn't absolve Gwen of her promise to stay in touch. Gwen's one concession to Morgana was the use of Clarence--and it was necessary, really, as few travelers ever came this way.

She gazed out the window as Clarence retreated into the distance. It looked out over the sea. The sight took her breath away: the water was a vast expanse of shimmering, shifting glass that stretched beyond the horizon. Its patchwork of dark blue and glinting gray shivered with wavelets that gathered into rolling breakers that collapsed on the shore. A gentle, steady breeze came off the water and filled her mouth with salty air.

A tug on her skirts prompted her to bring Viro up to see. A patch of lonely clouds scutted by in the distance, and shorebirds called out as they wheeled above the cliffs. Viro sighed contentedly, bringing a smile to Gwen's face.

The door creaked open behind them. Its wood was warped a bit from the climate, or so Morgause had said. She'd indulged Gwen's delight in her new surroundings when they had first arrived, drawing Gwen's curiosity past her deferential instincts. Viro had been so taken with Kiriel that Brecan had been a bit put out before warming to the egret's charm himself.

"Wouldn't you like a shawl?" Morgana asked, stepping into the room. "I just unpacked them. They're right--"

"No, thank you, love," Gwen said, turning. "The breeze feels good."

They had left Camelot in the height of a summer heat wave and traveled for more than a week to reach the High Priestesses' home in Irion. After magic--and Morgana--had been officially welcomed back to Camelot that spring, Gaius had spent many evenings confessing details of the Pendragon family's past. There had been many tears and not a little shouting, but amidst the dark stories one bright spot had emerged: Morgana had a half-sister by her mother. Morgause had been sent away to the Priestesses to protect her during the Purge.

After a giddy correspondence it was decided that Morgana would travel to Irion to meet her and, perhaps, begin to train with the Priestesses herself.

Gwen had been fascinated by the notion. What were the Priestesses like? What was their history, their custom, their speech? A sisterhood of scholars living in a closed society: she could only imagine what sorts of people she might meet. The Druids had been marvelously strange and kind. After the taste of living among them, Gwen was hungry to know more about the other peoples of the world.

"Well, _I'm_ chilled," Morgana said with a flirtatious smile. "Come lie with me, if you're so warm." She laughed at Gwen's good-natured eye roll as she hopped onto the bed. Gwen pulled the window shut before making her way to the other side.

The drew each other close and let their full skirts tangle around their legs. Viro buried down to find Brecan at their feet.

Morgana hummed with pleasure and lifted her free hand to stroke Gwen's hair. "Will you be happy here?" she asked after a moment. It was a predictable burst of insecurity that she tried to play off with steady motions and a light tone, but Gwen sensed the tension in her shoulders.

Gwen's path to this moment had been unusual by all accounts. She'd gone from hamlet to Camelot to castle to forest and back again in a world where few traveled much beyond their front doors. She'd seen and done so many things--many of them difficult, but all worthwhile--and all she could think about was how there was so much _more_ to be found. And all of it felt within her reach so long as she had Morgana at her side.

Camelot would always be home, of course. Morgana was an advisor on Arthur's council, and he and Merlin would need their support as they worked to bring the kingdom into a new age. But Camelot needed allies and scholars, and just that afternoon Morgause had mentioned another sisterhood in the land she claimed could be found on the other side of the sea...

Gwen looked into Morgana's eyes and saw worry, and hope, and best of all, excitement. The woman she loved had stepped out of the shadows and she couldn't wait to see what she would become.

"With you?" Gwen asked, squeezing Morgana's waist. "I'm happy always. _Yes._ "

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: A special thanks to YOU, dear reader, for coming on this journey. I have one more thing to say. If you have ever daydreamed about writing a long story (or any story at all) but have been afraid to try because you're not "A Writer," I have good news for you: you can be! I wrote my first story just three years ago and never imagined I'd be doing something like this today. Communities that grow up around challenges like ACBB are great for support, resources, and encouragement, and of course you can always strike out on your own. It's difficult and funky and fun.
> 
> I have never thought of myself as A Writer, but I'm so glad I've made writing a part of my life. You can do it too!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [{art} for The Golden Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961036) by [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello)




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